Well
by Takethe Blanket
Summary: RATED MATURE. Chapter fic - After seventeen years in South Park, Colorado, the boys are starting to feel a little lost. It's the beginning of Junior year, and Kyle is forced to help a bedridden Cartman catch up on his school work. Slash, several pairings.
1. Stuff is Messed Up

**Well**

**Chapter One - Stuff is Messed Up  
**

"_Do you need anybody? I need somebody to love. Could it be anybody? I want somebody to love…" _

Stan groans, silencing his alarm clock and stretching. Of course he wouldn't be able to sleep on the night before the first day of school. He yawns and slowly drags himself out of bed. Blue jeans, white shirt, brown jacket. He sighs at his appearance in the mirror. Life is dull already, and Stan Marsh is too average to stand out in the fog.

"_I called her on the phone and she touched herself. She touched herself. She touched herself..."_

Kenny opens his eyes, lifting his hands before his face and closing weak fists in front of his line of sight. He flexes his arms, he wiggles his toes, he licks his lips. Pleased to find himself in one piece, he lifts himself off of the mattress on the floor, letting the song play through while he slips into a pair of orange cargo pants and lights a cigarette.

"_I followed a rabbit through rows of mermaid entwined shrubbery. Oh, what marvelous things but, they are, they are, they are giving me the creeps…" _

Butters eyes snap open and he pants, trying to catch his breath. "Butters? Butters, get up!" his father's voice comes ringing through the hallway. He wipes the cold beads of sweat from his forehead and clambers out of bed. "Coming, sir!"

"_I'll take my time to slowly plot your end. But now I will spit bullets with my pen. And all I know is you're cute when you scream…"_

Kyle scrambles for his cell phone, almost falling out of bed as he does so. He hits snooze and rolls back into the wall. He's not ready for this. Junior year is the year that your grades actually matter to colleges. Junior year is his deciding factor. Today is the beginning of the rest of his life, and he can't fuck this up. "BUBBALA!!" his mother screeches from downstairs. "TIME FOR SCHOOL."

There is silence in Cartman's bedroom. No alarm signals the first day of school, no song rips him from his heavy slumber. His chest rises and falls so slowly snow could gather undisturbed on the hilltop of his stomach.

Stan, Kenny and Kyle gather at the bus stop. Brown, orange, orange. From a distance, an outsider might believe a fire was burning against the stark background of the snow-covered pavement. South Park residents know better.

"Kenny!" Kyle smiles as the tall boy.

"Didn't think you were gonna make it!" Stan tells him. "That last round of Syphilis hit you pretty hard!"

"And miss the first day of school?" Kenny chuckles. "I gotta see if there's any new ass for me to try."

"There's not going to be," Kyle tells him dully. "We've been going to school with the same kids for eleven years. No one comes, no one goes. Except you of course."

There is a silence. Kenny leaves space between himself and Kyle for the body of a boy that will not be joining them. The bus hisses to a halt.

"We all live close enough to walk," Kyle muses as they climb the slippery steps, snow knocking off their sneakers as they do so. Mrs. Crabtree is wailing at them for getting the floor wet. She goes entirely unnoticed. "Ike walks."

"I totally have a car, dude. I could just drive us all to school," Stan points out.

The boys collapse into the last row of the bus. They are not the first ones on, but that particular row of seats is always open.

"I can't imagine not taking the bus," Kenny admits, his eyes scanning the bus full of his classmates, chattering about summer and sharing pleasantries.

"Neither can I," Stan says quietly.

"Yeah, that'd be weird. Let's stop talking about this," Kyle mutters.

The students hesitate outside of the school until the bell rings, hands shoved low in their pockets for warmth. Butters wonders why girls and guys still don't integrate in South Park. They stand separated as they always have. He sighs. Butters can imagine an easier world. A crane hangs still in air over the sign on the front of the building. SOUTH PARK HIGH.

"Only took them four years to finally change it," Stan laughs.

"I still don't get it. Where do the little kids go to school?" Token asks.

Clyde turns towards him slowly and asks, "What little kids?"

Kyle realizes with a dull shock that Clyde is right. He hasn't seen any kids younger than Ike in South Park for, well, years. Ike is starting the eighth grade today and his class is being taught in the same building as the high school students. In the same building they went through for grammar school. In the same fucking building.

They file into the same classroom, sit in the same seats and stare up at the same teacher. Mr. Garrison glares down at all of them and sighs. The feeling is mutual. The morning announcements float down from the PA system, and a few students wander into the room late. It seems like Mr. Garrison doesn't even have the energy to bitch at them anymore. Tweek bursts through the door overdramatically and then sheepishly crawls to his seat, scratching at his arms and mumbling to himself. Jimmy moves slowly as well, swinging between his crutches easily. When Bebe sashays through the door, Kenny's eyes fall fixedly on her chest and he smiles to himself. Finally, every seat is filled but the one squarely in front of Kyle.

"Well, I guess he's not coming back," Butters says, frowning across the seats next to him where his friends are scattered.

Stan shrugs, pulling off his blue and red hat and dropping it on top of his backpack on the floor. It's only the beginning of Autumn, and while the rest of Colorado is just nearing the end of a hot and muggy summer, South Park seems to be stuck in an eternal Winter. The snow on the ground never melts, and the chilling winds never leave. South Park residents are doomed to red cheeks and runny noses. "I don't know why we really expected to see him here. He missed the last six months of sophomore year and I didn't see him _once_ over summer."

"Maybe he died," Kenny pipes in, tucking long strands of sandy, uncut hair behind his ears in a way that says he's "been there, and done that."

"He didn't die!" Butters shrieks. "I've talked to him online. He just can't come to school. But he said he was working on coming back so I thought he'd be here, that's all."

"Why are we even talking about him?" Kyle whines. "The past nine months without Cartman have been the most peaceful and enjoyable months of my life."

"True story," Craig chuckles under his breath.

"You guys really haven't spoken to him once?" Butters asks quietly, studying Kyle, Stan and Kenny's faces.

"Nah."

"I don't use the internet, Butters."

"No. Fucking. Way. Why does that surprise you?"

"Well, gee, he was supposed to be one of your best friends," Butters says. "Don't you think you should... uh, at least let him know you care about him? He's been through a lot of... crap with you three."

The three boys stare back at the blonde incredulously. Butters shrinks in his seat, his face reddening as he hides behind the stiff collar of his baby blue track jacket.

"Shut up, dude," Stan says.

"Well, shit, why do I even come to school to teach then?" Mr. Garrison complains. Mr. Mackey stands before him, talking rapidly and apologizing loudly. "If we have any hope of graduating him, we need to speak to the boys today. I promise it's just this once, mmkay?"

Stan, Kyle and Kenny stare ahead expectantly. Butters grips his desk, trying to mask his hopefulness.

"Stan, Kyle, Butters, Mr. Mackey and Principal Victoria would like to speak to you."

"Yes!" Butters rejoices.

"Hey!" Kenny shouts. "What about me? I'm always a part of the shit that happens to us!"

"They probably thought you were still dead, Kenny," Mr. Garrison tells him.

"Well, can I go?"

"No."

"Hey!"

Mr. Garrison's eyes drift up to the bayonets and axes and spiked, tethered balls that hang from the ceiling above Kenny's desk. Why exactly did he make medieval weapons a class project again? They sway dangerously, and Mr. Garrison waves his hand at Kenny,

"Yeah, go. Get out of here."

The four boys trot down the hallway, thrilled to be outside of the classroom, however in no hurry to actually arrive at the principal's office.

"I was afraid there for a second," Kenny says, "it looked like school was going to be boring this year."

Stan glances at him. "We've been here for a whole fifteen minutes."

"Exactly!"

"I wonder what this is about," Butters muses, his concern fake and mixed with excitement at being involved. "Maybe we're being sent on a secret mission to another town, or state, or _planet._"

"I don't have time for this," Kyle sighs, running his hand through the loose red curls on his head before replacing his hat. "Yale, Harvard, Stanford. They don't give a shit if I have to deal with Manbearpig or alien invaders."

"You're not missing anything by missing Mr. Garrison's teaching," Kenny assures him. "You're better off teaching yourself."

"That's half of the problem. I have to sit through school every day when I could be studying for the SATs."

Kenny shakes his head. "You need to learn to have a little fun."

"Like how? By fucking anything that moves? Not my cup of tea."

"You haven't tasted _my_ tea," Kenny says smoothly, looping his arm around Kyle's neck and pulling him into his body.

"Arrrgh! Stop!" Kyle yelps, tearing from his grasp. He moves away from Kenny and puts himself next to an oddly quiet Stan.

"Dude, you okay?" Kyle asks.

"What? Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're just quiet."

"Am I?" Stan asks flatly, his hand falling to the brass doorknob of the administration office and tugging it open.

"Yeah, it's weird, dude."

"I guess there's just nothing left to say that hasn't been said."

"What about you, Butters?" Kenny whispers as they file into the room. "Want some of me?"

"Uh, no thanks, Kenny. I can fulfill my desires other ways," Butters stammers, pushing past him and following Kyle and Stan into Principal Victoria's room. Kenny halts in his tracks and stares at the back of Butters' head.

"Huh?"

Mr. Mackey stands behind the principal and the boys sit directly in front of her. They have been here so many times. The only thing that changed is their feet have gotten closer and closer to the ground.

"Boys, we'd like to talk to you about your friend Eric Cartman."

There is an "oh!" from Butters and an unbelieving groan of, "really? For real," from Kyle, but aside from that, there is silence. The boys wait.

"He is unfortunately still bed ridden. He just barely passed his sophomore year due to Mr. Mackey going to his home and administering some comprehension tests to show that he was at an acceptable level for promotion. I'm sure you all are aware that Junior year of high school is pivotal to the rest of your life. I called you three... err… four in here to ask you if anyone would be interested in doing Eric a great favor this year."

"Anything for Eric!" Butters chirps. The three other boys turn to glare at him slowly.

"Unfortunately, Butters, your parents already called and said no."

"Aw, gee."

"Anyway, we're looking for a student to visit Eric a couple days a week and teach him the lessons Mr. Garrison teaches you in class. A friend who can help Eric understand the concept in classes, stay with him while he takes the tests and be honorable about not helping him cheat."

"Sure, I'll help out," Kenny offers.

"Um, well, that's very thoughtful of you Kenny, but we need a student that can not only help Eric keep his grades up, but won't let his own slip either. You already have a D in Mr. Garrison's class."

"What?! It's only the first day of school!"

"Exactly," Mr. Mackey and Principal Victoria say in unison. "That leaves it up to either Kyle or Stan, mmkay?"

Kyle stares forward, his brow knotted with irritation and his mouth hanging open dumbly. Stan turns to look at him slowly, a sheepish, pleading smile on his face.

"Aw, COME ON!" Kyle cries out, pounding his fists in his lap. "You have to be fucking kidding me. You want me to help that fat nazi bastard?! You want me to be ALONE WITH HIM?!"

"Kyle, we have already spoken to the school board about your agreement to help Eric—"

"—what agreement?!"

"—and they've agreed to give you community service hours for as many hours as you spend with him this year. You will be able to label it as tutoring and emotional support of a medically struggling student—"

"—EMOTIONAL SUPPORT?!"

"—and further, the school board as agreed to match the grade Eric earns in Mr. Garrison's class this year. If he gets an A, you will get 4 extra credits on top of the grade you earn in Mr. Garrison's class. You have the potential to earn the highest GPA in South Park High history. Colleges will not be able to turn you down."

Kyle seethes in silence for a moment, his face as red as the curls that peek out from beneath the green flaps of his hat. He cannot deny the offer, as awful as the job is. Cartman may very well chop him up and make him into dinner, but at least Kyle knows he'll get into college. Plus, on the bright side, Kyle is sure he can out run a bed ridden invalid.

"Why," he starts, trying to keep his voice level, "did you even call Kenny, Stan and Butters in here if you were all going to make me do this anyway?"

"I don't really know," she admits. "We've just always done it that way."

The boys wander back into the hallway when they're released, once again in no hurry to arrive at their destination. Butters has vanished, but it is accepted easily. He's always either under their feet or nowhere to be found.

"Can you _believe_ this?" Kyle moans, leaning up against a wall in the hallway and burying his face in his hands. "I have to tutor _Cartman_. FOR A YEAR. I have to make sure he _passes._ I have to sit with his sick ass in his bedroom and _teach _him."

"Stop PMSing, Kyle," Stan sighs, reading over the posters pinned to the bulletin board where they're loitering against the wall. "When did this bulletin board get here?" he asks.

"It's always been there, Stan," Kyle tells him, studying his face while Stan stares thoughtfully.

"I didn't know our school had a guitar club," Stan says, tugging a golden flier off the cork.

"That's my brother's club. He just started it this year. I saw him printing out those fliers this morning."

"Ike plays guitar?'

"Mhm."

"Speaking of music," Kenny butts in, grabbing the front of Kyle's orange jacket and pulling him away from the wall. "I have an extra ticket to a concert in Denver next month. I was going to take Bebe, but I changed my mind. I want you to come with me."

"What? Why?"

"After a month with Cartman, you're going to need it."

Kyle stares up into Kenny's face and his blue, slightly sunken eyes, hiding beneath sunny, uncut hair. He's never really looked at Kenny before, his face so often hidden beneath his hood. In the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, he looks beautiful and scary.

"What band?"

"Senses Fail and Say Anything."

"Oh," Kyle says. "I like them."

"So you'll come?"

"Sure."

Kenny smiles brightly down at Kyle, dazzling him. He drags an affectionate hand down his chest before releasing him and Kyle feels woozy and uncertain. Half an hour ago, he rejected Kenny's advances. How come now he's suddenly flushed and fluttery? He glances back at Stan for his reaction, but Stan is still staring down at the goldenrod in his hand with an empty gaze. When he turns back, Kenny is gone. Kyle clenches his jaw, frustrated with himself.

"I didn't know Ike played guitar."

"There's a lot of things we don't know about him, dude. He's Canadian."

Simultaneously, the two friends turn back towards Mr. Garrison's classroom. Stan slips the flier into his back pocket but Kyle does not notice his off behavior, too overwhelmed by Kenny's flirtatious tendencies and the fact that he is now officially a tutor to Eric Fucking Cartman. Might as well slip into a pair of striped pajamas now. You can pin a pink triangle next to his yellow star.

When they enter the classroom, Kenny is in his seat, aimlessly drumming his fingers against the desktop. Kyle is too busy trying to figure out what the fuck happened in the hallway to notice Butters, head down on his desk, sound asleep.

The day passes in lurches and lulls. Stan does not talk at lunch, and neither does Kyle. Kyle stares at Kenny. Stan stares at his hand. Butters, however, seems back to normal. He talks animatedly, laughing and smiling at Jimmy's jokes and conversing easily with Token and Clyde.

Stan is able to adjust Mr. Garrison's grating voice to translate as a dull roar in his head. He tries to pay attention in class but he seems unable to do so. He is bothered by something. He is bothered by doing the same thing every day year after year. Nothing has changed. The monotony is screaming. The guitar club poster in his back pocket burns. He wants to pull it out and look at it again, but he refrains.

Kyle fidgets in his seat. A few times during class, he tries to turn around and look at Kenny, but he refuses to give Kenny the satisfaction of successfully messing with his head. For all he knows, Kenny is playing another game to entertain himself between deaths.

Upon being dismissed for the afternoon, Kyle realizes that he didn't listen to a single thing Mr. Garrison said today. So much for starting his Junior year out right. He sighs. At least he doesn't have a reason to spend any more time than necessary at Cartman's house today. He can stop by, drop off the syllabus and go the fuck home.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle says, moving over to his desk. "I gotta run by Cartman's, so I'll just talk to you later? See you in the morning?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, cool. Later, dude," Stan drawls, lifting himself out of his seat and walking out into the hallway. Kyle stares after him, dumbstruck.

"What the fuck is happening around here?"

Stan wanders through the hallway, getting a few things out of his locker before leaving campus. His eyes are unfocused and untrained, staring straight ahead of himself as he walks. He does not notice Wendy and Red glaring at him from a nearby water fountain.

He stops at the front door to shove his hat on his head and slip his fingers into a pair of gloves. It looks like it's starting to snow outside. He watches snowflakes gather on the sill of the large windows of the door. Early September. This town fucking sucks.

"Hey, Stan," a familiar voice passes him. Stan's head jerks awkwardly to find the speaker. Ike is almost out the door.

"Oh, whoa! Ike, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"You… play guitar, right?" Stan drags the crumpled xerox from his back pocket. "Kyle said this is your club."

"Yep."

Not only is Ike's face constantly stoic and blanket, but his words are also devoid of emotion. It makes Stan nervous, despite being four years older than the boy.

"If I… come to it, will you teach me how to play?"

"Do you have a guitar?"

"Yes. Well, my dad does. I'm sure I can borrow it."

"For sure," Ike agrees, the wide, flat line of his mouth turning up into the subtlest of smiles. "We meet Wednesdays afterschool on the playground. Or, _concrete football field_, whatever this dumb school calls it. You down?"

"Yeah! Awesome!" Stan says. He waves as Ike turns to leave, suddenly too sick to his stomach to speak a farewell.

The walk to Cartman's house is quick, but it feels slow and painful as an unexpected wind carries the snowdrift beneath Kyle's hat and up his pant legs. He groans. He could be on the bus home right now. Thoughts of Stanford, in warm and beautiful California, keep his feet moving in the direction of a house that is probably colder than this weather.

Kyle has not seen Cartman in nine months, and he knows it's going to be awkward when he does. As he rings the doorbell, he takes solace in the fact that Cartman cannot even get out of bed to answer the call. s

Leann is the one that does, just cracking the door enough to see who is there. She smiles when she recognizes Kyle and swings the door open wide. She is wet. Her clothes are soaked through, a towel hanging over one shoulder and a bucket of soapy water in her hand.

"Are you who decided to help Eric out this semester?"

Kyle is about to speak when a grating voice calls out from inside the house. "Maaaaaaaaahm, you left shampoo in my hair!"

No. No, way. Kyle stares up at her in horror. "Yes," he answers softly.

"Well, would you like to come in and visit? Eric is downstairs now, it made me too tired to climb the stairs every time he needed something. His bed is set up in the living room!"

"Who's there? Is that Kyle? Seriously? I heard him. That's Kyle!"

"Oh, no, that's alright. I just came to drop off the syllabus. I, uh, think there might be a blizzard coming and I don't want to be too far from home when it hits."

"They sent the _Jew_ to teach me?!"

"Oh, I understand dear."

"Here's his syllabus," Kyle mumbles, fumbling for it in his backpack, regretting not having it pulled out earlier.

"The fucking JEW?!"

"So, Principal Victoria said you'd be visiting us Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, is that correct?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess so."

"You fucking jew-rat better come in here right now!"

"Wonderful, Kyle. You're doing Eric a wonderful service."

"I've got to go," Kyle blurts out, turning on his heels and practically running for the street. The sound of Cartman's voice has his heart pounding and his hands shaking. Why is he suddenly so scared of the other boy? He knows that Cartman cannot hurt him, and he knows that his anti-semetic slurs are hollow threats, and yet, Kyle finds himself on rocky ground. Nine months away from Cartman has rid Kyle of his tough skin to the other boy's brutality. How the Hell is he going to do this? As soon as he's out of sight of Leann, Kyle breaks out into a run, his lungs protesting the temperature of the air he is breathing and his hurry to get home.


	2. The Never Ending Why

**Well**.

**Chapter Two - The Never Ending Why**

"We wanted to know if Butters would like to join us for a game of basketball."

Butters' father stands in the doorway of his house, looking at Stan on the front step. Butters' house is conveniently on the way to the park. If it hadn't been, no one would have thought to stop by and invite him.

"Let me go see if he'd like to," his father says, disappearing back into the house.

The boys hesitate on the porch, never sure if they're allowed inside the Stotch's pristine home, but the blizzard from the night before passed, and the sky is clear and still, so they don't mind too much standing outside. It is not warm enough to remove their hats however, and Kenny hides beneath his sweater's hood, but the sunshine successfully coaxed the boys out of Stan's living room and away from the afterschool X-box session

"You seemed in a better mood today," Kyle tells Stan. "Yesterday you seemed pretty off."

"I feel better," Stan admits. "I felt weird yesterday. Off. Probably because it was the first day of school. I just felt like, shit, same thing again? And for another two years? Miserable."

Mr. Stotch returns and frowns down at the boys. "I'm sorry, boys," he says flatly, "Butters is grounded, he cannot come out and play."

The door is suddenly shut in their faces.

"What."

"Whatever."

Kyle glances over at an uncharacteristically quiet Kenny. His friend didn't show any hints at the same kind of behavior he had displayed the day before. It both relieves and worries Kyle. As if he wasn't confused enough by his sexual preference, Kenny didn't have to go and make Kyle feel uncertain by sporadic flirtation.

The three boys turn away from Butters house and Kenny dribbles the ball down the street as they head for the park.

-

"Butters? Hey, Butters. You have some friends downstairs. They'd like to know if you want to join them for basketball. The sun is out."

Butters remains at his desk, his head in his hands. He cannot hear his father.

"Butters? Butters!"

His eyes fall shut. He is so close. If he could just reach out and grab a hold of his hand.

"Butters! Why are you ignoring me?"

The door is opened and Butters is forced back into reality in a panic. He is shaking as he spins around to face his father.

"Y-yes, sir?"

"You have some friends downstairs. They would like you to join them for basketball."

"Oh, uh. Tell them no thanks, Dad," Butters answers. He turns slowly around to face the wall once more, his hands creeping up the sides of his face. "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, Butters?"

"Tell them I'm grounded."

-

Stan stands on the three-point line and shoots. The ball misses and Kyle catches the rebound passing it back to him.

"How was Cartman yesterday?" he asks.

"I didn't really see him," Kyle admits. "I spoke to his mom at the door. Gave her the syllabus. Cartman was screaming at me from the living room. I opted not to go in."

Kyle leaves off the part about the sponge bath- more for his own sanity than Cartman's privacy. Kenny passes him the ball and he shoots. All chain.

"Dude, good luck with that."

"I'm going to go crazy," Kyle sighs, dragging a hand across his forehead. "Plus, Cartman is such a fucking retard that I'm probably not going to get him to pass."

"He'll pass," Kenny pipes in. "You're brilliant. You'll be able to teach him."

"Uh, thanks, Kenny."

"Those are like, the first words you've spoken today. And they were oddly complimentary. Why are you so quiet?" Stan questions.

"Thursday is my birthday."

"Oh, are we doing something?"

"Nope," Kenny laughs, shooting the ball. It rides the rim, but avoids the basket.

"I can't ever remember doing anything for your birthday," Kyle admits.

"That's because I've always been dead on it."

"Except for the first time," Kyle tells him.

Kenny smiles back at him. "I wonder what that says."

Kenny's eyes once again entrance Kyle. He struggles to catch his breath. Stan passes him the ball and it hits him in the gut. He doubles over in defense of his nuts, and Stan and Kenny laugh at him. Red-faced, Kyle steals another glance at Kenny, and Kenny is smiling apologetically in his direction.

"So, I'm joining your brother's club," Stan tells Kyle nervously, afraid of his reaction. It comes out almost like a question.

"You don't play guitar, Stan."

"He's going to teach me."

Stan passes Kyle the ball and Kyle holds it in his hand.

"So... what? You want us to join the club too?"

"I didn't say that. I just figured you should know."

"Since when did you want to learn how to play guitar?" Kenny asks, taking the ball from Kyle's hands. Kyle blushes.

Stan shrugs, his hands burying deep into his pockets. "Since yesterday, I guess. People can change, you know. Things can change."

Kyle pouts, and Kenny hands the ball back to him. Kyle shoots. Chains. Stan catches the rebound and dribbles the ball aimlessly between his legs.

"How's Wendy?" Kenny asks.

"What about her? We haven't spoken to each other since we broke up."

"It's been a while," Kyle agrees, looking over at Kenny oddly. "Like, six months."

"So you don't find her attractive anymore?"

"No."

"Never want to get back together?"

"Nope."

"See?" Kenny grins at Kyle. "People do change! Hell has frozen over!"

"Has it really?" Stan asks, mocking surprise in Kenny's direction.

"Unfortunately not."

"I'd rather be in Hell," Kyle moans, blowing warm air over his fingers. "South Park is too cold."

"Wanna come with me next time?" Kenny asks him. "Make a date out of it?"

Kyle blushes again and spins away from Kenny, frustrated with himself. Even Kenny's normal self is giving Kyle butterflies today. Stan shoots the ball and misses.

"Horse."

"What? When did we start playing that?" Kyle asks.

"He was playing with himself, Kyle," Kenny tells him, all innuendo entirely intentional. Kyle tries to avoid eye contact with Kenny. Stan is oblivious.

"You guys wanna go to the arcade tomorrow?" Kenny suddenly says to the group.

"Can't," Stan tells him. "Guitar."

Kenny's eyes drift over to Kyle. Kyle finally looks up to meet his eyes and his heart pounds.

"Can't. Cartman."

"Aww," Kenny frowns, taking a step towards Kyle. Kyle feels dizzy.

"We can hang out on Thursday," Kyle offers.

"That's my birthday."

"I don't care."

Kenny shrugs. "Alright then."

"Are you going to invite Stan?" Kyle asks softly, watching his raven-haired friend continue to shoot the ball.

"Nope," the blonde answers, his smile broad and glowing. Kyle could fall over with confusion, but Kenny's hand is securely on his shoulder, holding him upright. He preferred when Kenny had been quiet. The compliments and suggestive jokes and knowing glances are too much for Kyle. They are standing together on the sidelines of the court, observing Stan catching his own rebounds. He keeps missing the hoop. He's got a whole pasture of horses now. Sure, Kyle knows he's gay, but no one else knows that. And he never thought he'd be attracted to one of his best friends. He tries to shake the thought, but Kenny's hand snakes around the back of his neck to play with the red curls that hang below the edge of his hat. Kyle sighs.

"I'm gonna go home and study," he announces suddenly. Kyle swiftly leaves the basketball court, and as soon as he is out of sight, he runs.

"Well," Stan says, passing the ball to Kenny. "Some people don't change."

-

"Hey, dad? Dad? Dad!"

"What?!"

"Where's your guitar?"

"My guitar?"

"Yeah."

"In the basement. Why?"

"I'm going to learn to play it."

"Why?"

-

"Happy hump day!" Kenny rejoices at the bus stop. Kyle looks apathetic. Stan looks awkward with a guitar case in his hand. "Get it? _Hump_ day."

"I have to see Cartman today," Kyle groans.

"You'll be fine," Kenny smiles at him. Kyle's stomach flips. He can't believe he has a genuine crush on one of his best friends. A guy that has slept with every willing girl at South Park High and most of the unwilling ones as well. Kyle tries to remind himself that any flirtation from Kenny is a fluke. Kyle is being delusional, and gay, and misconstruing normal behavior from Kenny into something he things might mean another thing.

"GET ON THE FUCKING BUS!!!!"

-

"You can play guitar?"

Stan turns to face Red as they walk into the classroom. He sets his father's guitar case in the back of the room. She follows him as he heads to his desk.

"I'm learning."

"Girls think guitars are sexy."

"Uh, I guess."

"Trying to impress a girl? Hmm?"

"No."

-

Stan is an average guy with average concerns. Right now, he hesitates at the door to the playground, afraid of being too early, too on time, or too late to the first meeting of Ike's club. Ike had said "afterschool." Well, it is afterschool? But how much after is he supposed to wait?

He glances around the building he's standing in. He's been going to this school for this school for twelve years now. Twelve years in the same building five days a week and Stan has never really looked around. The hallway is green. The cafeteria is teal. Once, in a movie, Stan saw a school with white walls and white floors. He remembers thinking how strange a color white was. Especially for walls.

His hand tightens on the guitar case's worn handle as Wendy and Bebe pass him, heads turned away from him forcibly. Wendy is so irritating. She always wants his attention in one way or another, usually sending her friends to do her dirty work. It's not like the break up was messy. Stan just lost interest over time. Why can't she just accept that Stan isn't into her anymore?

Stan isn't into much of anything.

"Stan?"

Stan wheels around to face Ike but the guitar case in his hand makes moving difficult. It bangs ungracefully against the wall and Stan winches. Ike is staring blankly back at him. Stan's eyes drift over Ike's face. It is impossible to read the younger boy. Ike stares at him for a few moments, a guitar hanging case-less off his back.

"How long have you been standing in here?"

"Uh, not long. I was just… on the phone with my dad for a second."

"It's three twenty."

"Whoa, really?"

"Yeah. I was starting to wonder if you bailed on me, so I came to check."

"Sorry about that. Sometimes I just get… lost and end up standing around in one place for too long."

"That's alright," Ike tells him, his mouth once again hinting at a smile. "Ready?"

Stan nods.

They walk out onto the playground, snow crunching between the soles of their shoes and the concrete beneath it. Against the yellow walls of the building, next to dumpsters lay the remnants of the elementary school's playground. The jungle gym and tetherball poles, too small for the students in their high school height, rest unused and discarded. The playground, now referred to as a field by the school (despite being concrete), is entirely empty save a few benches along the edges. Ike is heading towards one and Stan follows behind him.

"Where's everyone else?" Stan asks.

"We're the only ones."

"Oh."

Ike glances over at him and shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't care, I'm surprised even you joined. Kids in South Park stopped trying new things when they learned that it almost always got someone killed."

They sit down on the bench, Ike swinging his guitar around to sit in his lap. His fingers are skating over the strings and Stan watches dumbfounded as he makes music. Feeling foolish, he bends down to pull his father's guitar out of the case.

"He uh, said it's probably out of tune, but I figured you can help me."

Ike is nodding, but Stan cannot tell if he is agreeing to tune his guitar or just rocking along with his music. Stan recognizes the song, but cannot find the title. Ike plays for a few more moments, and Stan is mesmerized. His best friend's little brother is four years younger than him, but he doesn't really look like it. It doesn't help that Ike can play guitar like a rock star and Stan is fumbling to not drop his on the concrete.

"I cannot wait to play like that," Stan tells him, feeling the need to say something. When Ike stops playing, he regrets it.

"You can!" Ike grins at him. The honest to goodness smile throws Stan off. His guitar is sitting lamely in his lap, his hand wrapped around the neck of the guitar sheepishly.

"First of all," Ike tells him. "Don't be scared of your guitar. Just because you don't know how to play it yet doesn't mean you're not allowed to hold it. Are you afraid of coming across as a poser or something?"

Stan chuckles, "I guess a little."

"Well, stop. No one here is judging you but me."

The statement is a little convoluted and harsh, but Stan finds comfort in it. He settles back against the bench, his arms embracing the instrument with a little more confidence than at first. Ike plucks the top string on his guitar and glances over at Stan. Stan hits the same string on his own guitar and the note that follows makes Ike cringe.

"Yeah, that's flat. Tune it up."

Stan does so and hits the note again.

"Still flat."

"Still flat."

"Almost."

"Too far."

Eventually, the boys get the entire guitar tuned, and Stan is happy to notice that when he drags the pick Ike gave him down the span of strings, the sound his guitar makes matches the one that Ike's makes. Ike looks happy and he watches him and Stan's hands fall still as he grows preoccupied studying Ike's face. His eyes are solid black, hiding beneath a curtain of black hair that frames an expressionless face. Had Stan not grown up with this boy around, Ike could look pretty scary.

"Aren't you cold?" Stan asks suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Aren't you cold? You don't have a hat on."

Ike stares back at him blankly for a long time. Stan can hear his pulse in his ears.

"Take your hat off," Ike finally answers, fingers picking out a quiet tune on his guitar, "and you'll see that it's not really cold out here."

-

For Kyle, his Wednesday at school is spent staring at Kenny. He notices little things, like how awesome blonde hair is, or how… attractive it is that Kenny is taller than him. When Kyle gets the chance to sit next to him at lunch, he notices that Kenny's normal perfume of cigarette smoke and the powdered laundry detergent from the coin wash is not offensive. In fact, he leans a little closer to his friend and lets himself breathe it in.

Kenny is making him laugh today, even with the crude type of jokes that Kyle doesn't always enjoy. When Craig casts them irritated glances, Kenny explains that Kyle has to spend the afternoon with Cartman, and Kenny wants to give him enough pain medicine to get through the tutoring session. It makes Kyle smile- the defense, the care. He fidgets uneasily in his seat. He's not supposed to feel this way. At least not about Kenny McCormick.

Three o'clock rolls around too soon and Kyle inwardly groans, staying slumped in his seat longer than he normally would. Kenny strolls over to his desk and sits on the edge.

"Want me to walk there with you? Stan has guitar anyway."

"Sure," Kyle sighs, smiling up at him. "That'd be nice."

They walk a well-known path to Cartman's house and Kyle finds himself struggling to keep a comfortable distance from Kenny. Too close and he feels like Kenny will catch on, too far and he feels cold and lonely. Kyle tries to weigh the pros and cons of being attracted to Kenny. Would Kenny really make fun of him if he found out Kyle _was_ gay? Wasn't Kenny the one to start this yesterday anyway? They could have fun, Kyle thinks to himself. No one would have to know. But his imagination is getting away from him, Kenny is probably just being Kenny. _Has cock too big to keep in his pants_, he always says. He pauses when Kenny stops in the middle of the sidewalk and lights a cigarette. He watches him as the smoke creeps from his lips slowly, swirling upwards and reaching for the sky. He knocks a few ashes to the ground.

"You smoke a lot for someone that has no money."

Kenny glances over at him and smirks. "Who says I pay for these?"

The walk is too short, and when they arrive at Cartman's house, Kyle clutches to his backpack straps, frowning. He would have much rather spent today with Kenny at the arcade like he originally asked. Instead they're going tomorrow, on Kenny's birthday. Kyle wonders if he should get Kenny a birthday present. He never has before. He sighs, refocusing his attention on the house looming in front of him.

"This is going to fucking suck."

"Remember, he can't hurt you," Kenny says sweetly.

Kyle nods, happy for a moment, but just before he steps on to path leading to Cartman's front door, Kenny slaps his ass. No matter how he's been feeling about Kenny lately, that was unnecessary. He glares angrily back at his friend, but Kenny is already walking off, his cigarette lazy between his lips.

He takes a hesitant step towards the front door, the reality of what he's about to do weighing down on him heavily. He hadn't really thought about this through the course of the day. He was too busy with his stupid crush. Right now, Kenny is the furthest thing from his mind. He reaches up and rings the doorbell. Despite the chill of the air, Kyle finds that his palms are sweaty. He wipes them on his pant leg while he waits for Leann to open the door.

"Hello, Kyle," she says sweetly. Kyle opens his mouth to say hello back, but she keeps speaking. "Now that you're here, I'm going to run out and do some grocery shopping. Eric is in the living room, and if he needs anything, feel free to go through the house. He's asleep right now, feel free to wake him up."

Dumbfounded, Kyle watches as he grabs her purse and pushes past him, bolting out the door. Kyle does not blame her. Stuck at home with a disabled Cartman for nine months? He'd want to run as well.

Unfortunately, he can't run away. He has to move forward into the dark house and shut the door behind him. It's silent, and the curtains are drawn, keeping the mid-afternoon sun out and forcing the Cartman residence to be cast in the darkness of nighttime. Kyle takes his coat off and hangs it on the rack on the front door. The house is pleasantly warm.

Kyle takes a deep breath, standing dumbly in the foyer and not eager to take the steps into the living room. He doesn't want to see Cartman, even when he's asleep.

But Kyle has no choice, and so he tosses his hat and gloves on to a table in the entrance and moves towards the living room. Kenny's words ring through his head. _He cannot hurt you._

The living room is too dark to see anything and Kyle instinctively switches the light switch up. Cartman groans at the sudden light, but he does not seem to wake up. The sight of Cartman's body terrifies Kyle more than he expected it to, and he takes brave steps towards him, a sick fascination ridding him of his better judgment.

Cartman's bed is in the center of the room, the thick, wide mattress sagging beneath his body. The bed frame is consists of closely arranged, heavy slats of wood. As Kyle approaches, he can see that the bed frame has collapsed beneath Cartman's weight, and the mattress remains on top of the broken pieces of wood like nothing had ever been beneath it in the first place. The mattress has a single sheet stretched across it. There is no blanket covering Cartman's sleeping body.

Kyle stares down at him. Cartman's eyes are pressed shut, thin lines etched into his round face. Kyle can't tell if it's because he's protesting the light in the living room, or if the size of his cheeks keep him from opening them all the way anymore. He stands beside his bed, his backpack slowly falling to the ground as he studies the boy before him.

Cartman's hair is long. It obviously hasn't been cut in months. It is splayed out messily on the pillow beneath his head, some of it wrapping down around his swollen, creasing neck and over where Cartman's shoulders should be. Cartman's massive body is covered in white t-shirt and a pair of grey pajama pants, but the shape they hold is nothing ordinary.

Kyle's eyes drift down Cartman's chest, over a stomach so broad that it plateaus, leaving a flat surface of three feet in the middle before sloping down smoothly into rolls and swells that lay against the mattress like another object entirely. This can't all be Cartman's body.

His stomach ends at his knees and his knees are lost beneath thick bands of fat from his thighs. One of his pant legs has been pushed up to his thigh and Kyle can see the red, stretched skin of his calf. His rounded feet look small as they emerge from where his ankles could have once been. Kyle can see bedsores on the sides of his legs, the blood staining the sheet beneath him.

Kyle takes a strangled breath, suddenly aware that he has not been breathing. He tries to take a step back and look at all of Cartman's body, but he can't focus. He glances down at Cartman's hands, his palms convex, his fingers thick and immobile, he studies Cartman's arms, almost as wide as his thighs, pinning his bones against the mattress.

Cartman groans as he tries to shift on the bed, the fat on his body rocking in waves as he works to readjust himself. He collapses back against the bed after the failed attempt and slowly, Kyle meets his eyes.

"How much do you weigh now?" Kyle asks when he realizes Cartman is awake. Last time he saw the boy, Cartman was at least able to get out of bed. The stairs had been difficult for him, but he was still a functioning human. He must have gained at least…

"Seven fifty."

…four hundred pounds.

There was once a time where Kyle could have laughed at Cartman in his current state, but right now, the horror is grabbing at him with cold fingers, and Kyle can hardly move. He never understood until today why they call it _morbid _obesity.

"How could you have let this happen?" Kyle asks sadly.

"Fuck off, Jew," Cartman sighs. He doesn't even have it in him anymore.

"I brought over a lesson plan," Kyle starts, the words leaving his mouth impulsively. Truthfully, he'd forgotten why he was even here.

"I don't want your help."

Kyle frowns. "You don't really have a choice. Don't you want to graduate? Butters said you were going to come back to school."

Cartman is staring back at Kyle blankly, his head flat on the mattress. He sighs, and the effort of expanding his lungs beneath nearly half a ton of body weight seems to tire Cartman. Kyle regrets the statement. It'd be obvious to anyone that Cartman is not coming back to school any time soon.

"We can at least get you graduated so in a few years you go can to college," Kyle mumbles. "Plus, you have to be bored stuck here all day."

"I fucking hate you, faggot."

The words sting, but Kyle knows he has to get through this. Cartman's grade is his own, this year. He can get through this if he just pushes forward. He sets his backpack down on the couch and digs out the novel Mr. Garrison assigned them for English.

"Mr. Garrison gave us a book to read for English. It's called _A Separate Peace_," he explains, sitting on the couch. "Do you want to read it, or do you want me to read it to you?"

"I'm not fucking four, Kahl."

Kyle looks up at Cartman in the center of the room, his presence huge and looming, even when he's not next to him. They look at each other for a long time before Cartman sighs.

"Fine. Read it."


	3. The Irony of Dying on Your Birthday

**Well**

**Chapter 3 - The Irony of Dying on Your Birthday**

Things grow more and more confusing for Kyle. On Thursday, he sits in class, trying to take thorough notes for Cartman, but Kenny is distracting as ever. Kyle watches him, staring at the side of his head. The smirk on Kenny's alerts Kyle to the fact he is not being subtle, but he hardly cares.

So, he's accepted it. He really, really likes Kenny. He thinks he's cool and sweet and funny and… sexy. Kyle feels his cheeks reddening and he averts his eyes back to his notes on his desk. But where is this going to go? If they start going out are they going to tell Stan? Are they going to tell people? Kyle cannot tell his mom. And the school is going to give them such shit. Just thinking about Craig and Clyde's reactions make Kyle sick to his stomach.

Well, they could keep it a secret. No one would have to know. Kyle's eyes have drifted back towards Kenny's seat and Kenny is raising his hand. Kyle feels a surge of affection for him.

"Yes, Kenny."

"I find it interesting that Gene and Finny are considered friends in the novel, when obviously, they've both emotionally and physically attracted to each other."

He glances over at Kyle, smirking.

"Yes, Kenny. The homosexual undertones in this novel have been picked up by several readers and is a constant debate topic. It brings to question the idea of the limitations of one's sexual preference, and what a time of war can do to throw a friendship into the dark spiral of being fags."

The class stares up at Mr. Garrison blankly. Kenny raises an eyebrow in Kyle's direction and Kyle crosses his arms over his chest. Kenny is a jerk, but Kyle's irritation is mild. He's enjoying the attention.

It's surprising how fast something like attraction can come on to a person. One pivotal moment is the tipping point. Kenny invited him to that concert and it was over for Kyle. Any attraction to the tall blonde that he had been suppressing came rushing forth and took a hold of Kyle as if it has been there all along. Things about Kenny that Kyle once found irritating are now endearing.

He has to keep from getting ahead of himself. Kenny could very well just be messing with him. Hell, Kyle could be picking up on things that don't exist. Maybe Kyle is so tired of fearing his sexuality that his brain is deluding him into thinking Kenny is an answer.

"Dude, you okay?"

"What?" Kyle asks, looking up at Stan before him. He had been too lost in his thoughts to realize the bell for lunch had rung. He glances around the room and stands, joining Stan, Butters and Kenny as they walk to the cafeteria.

"Where's your hat?" Kyle asks.

"I didn't wear it today," Stan answers, looking back at Kyle curiously. Had Kyle been so distracted with Kenny that he didn't notice something as drastic as _Wthat_ until lunchtime?

The boys join Jimmy, Clyde, Craig and Token at the lunch table. Despite practically every girl in the school telling Kenny happy birthday, not a single guy (other than Butters) says it. Kenny sits across from Kyle, their feet colliding beneath the table, and Kyle decides he'll save his "happy birthday" for later when they're hanging out. Alone. Without Stan.

"How was Cartman's?" Stan asks.

Every head turns to look at Kyle and Kyle frowns at Stan. It's not like he had told anyone that he was being forced to tutor Cartman. No one knew but the boys in the office. Kyle assumed Butters would spill before Stan did. Stan's head it elsewhere.

"Dude, weak."

Stan seems to realize his error and gasps, trying to show Kyle he is sorry with his eyes while the bombardment of questions start to rain down from the four boys at the table that were not in on the secret.

"You went to Cartman's?"

"Why?"

"Dude, I thought he died."

"How big is he now?"

"Yeah, yesterday, no, he's not dead and to help him keep up on school work." Kyle does not elaborate on Cartman's size. He doesn't feel like anyone needs to know. They know he can't come to school, isn't that embarrassing enough? Kyle knows he should not feel pity for a guy that tried to kill him dozens of times, but Kyle doesn't have the heart to let the school tear him apart.

"Was this your idea?" Clyde asks.

Craig shakes his head. "I'm sure it wasn't."

"Yeah," Kyle answers. "Principal Victoria and Mr. Mackey asked me to help out."

"You said yes?"

"They're giving him school credit," Butters elaborates. Kyle shoots a death glare in his direction. Can't everyone just keep to themselves? Kenny's foot taps on his beneath the table and Kyle looks over at him, but Kenny is not paying him any attention, busy trying to steal a crouton off of Stan's salad. Kyle sighs, realizing he had merely gotten bumped.

"That's hardly fair," Token pipes in. "You don't _need_ school credit."

Kyle shrugs. "I got a couple B's on my transcript, it wouldn't hurt."

"You're still valedictorian," Clyde points out.

"Yeah, at a school of two hundred kids, that's not too hard to do," Craig explains.

Stan is quiet today, like he had been on Monday. Kyle vaguely wonders what Stan is so busy thinking about and he watches as his best friend stares down at his hands, but Kyle feels Kenny's foot bang against his again and he looks once again. This time, Kenny's gaze meets his and Kyle's face heats up in a hopeful way. This combination inquisition and peanut gallery at lunch teaches Kyle one thing- if anything ever _does_ come out of this crush on Kenny, he's definitely not telling anyone.

School cannot end fast enough today. Kyle just was to be with Kenny. When the bell finally rings, the two boys in orange leave the classroom together and Stan doesn't even notice them go.

They walk into town, where a small music store had been converted into an arcade back when songs stared getting pirated off the internet. The boys went to the arcade on occasion, just for the token arcade games you couldn't get for x-box. Kenny likes to play Dance Dance Revolution. Kyle likes to watch.

Being with Kenny is easy. Kyle pays for all of his games as a birthday present, and he likes the fact that that makes this feel like a date. They sit down in a diner across the street a couple hours later, laughing and smiling at each other as they flick a paper football back and forth between them on the table. Kenny's feet are on top of his beneath the table.

"What do you want?" Kyle asks, staring down at a menu.

"I'm just gonna get some water."

"No," Kyle tells him, staring back at him across the table. "I said I'd pay for everything today. It's your birthday. Get some fucking food."

Kenny shakes his head, smiling softly at Kyle and grabbing a menu. Kyle watches him as he rakes a hand through his hair, tucking strands aimlessly behind his ears that just continue to fall forward into his eyes. Kyle still can't really figure out what's going on. He and Kenny have always gotten along well, and they've hung out without Stan before, and it's all just been platonic. But there've been a few things that are giving Kyle the hope. Kenny intentionally didn't invite Stan. Or, he look he gave him in class while they were talking about being gay. Playing… footsie. Kyle just needs something more concrete. He doesn't want to do anything and make a fool of himself because Kenny is just being Kenny.

"Are you gentlemen ready to order?"

Kyle and Kenny both turn to face the waitress and Kyle frowns upon viewing the size of her chest. Kyle sees Kenny smiling at her and a pang of jealousy pierces through him. Kenny McCormick is the straightest man-whore in South Park. Why had he gotten so hopeful?

"I'll have a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake, please," he asks. His smiling is dazzling.

"You, sweetie?"

Kyle seethes. What is he, the hot guy's little brother?

"Chicken fingers and a coke."

His choice of dinner probably didn't help the image. Kyle slumps in his seat a little bit as the pair of tits takes his and Kenny's menus, winking at Kenny before she walks off. Kyle gets lost in his thoughts, regretting letting himself fall for Kenny in the first place. He knew it was going nowhere.

"Are you excited for the concert?"

Kyle struggles for a moment to realize Kenny is speaking to him. He sits up and looks at him, nodding.

"Senses Fail is my favorite band. And Say Anything is just a bunch of Jewish kids. No complaints there."

"I never figured you'd like angry, screamo, homicidal rock," Kenny smiles at him.

Kyle laughs, shrugging. "There's lot of things you don't know about me."

"Oh, I think I know everything there is to know about you. You're Jewish, you're nerdy, and you're neurotic."

"Hey!" Kyle shouts, however still laughing. "Well, you're a poor, walking STD who uses his good looks to manipulate every girl in South Park into sleeping with you."

"You think I'm good-looking? Thank you, Kyle!"

Kyle blushes, glaring at Kenny. He doesn't try to defend himself, because the way Kenny is smiling at him is calming Kyle down. His foot taps on top of his and Kyle retracts his feet suddenly, having only just realized they were still touching under the table. Crushes are too hard to deal with, Kyle muses. Everything is too confusing and up in the air. He wonders if he could talk to Stan about this. Maybe Stan could give him some insight in how to deal with this.

Kenny looks like he's in he heaven as he bites into the cheeseburger. Kyle is glad he can at least make him happy by feeding him. They don't talk much as they eat, but when Kenny offers Kyle a sip of his milkshake, Kyle takes it, even though it isn't kosher.

"So how _is_ Cartman?" Kenny asks.

Kyle hesitates for a moment. Kenny is one of his best friends, and his current crush, and still, he's finding it difficult to talk about Cartman.

"He's okay."

"Did he try to kill you?"

Kyle shoves some french-fries into his mouth to avoid long answers. He shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coke.

"How much bigger is he?"

"Not much," Kyle lies. He fidgets uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn't want to talk to Kenny about his time with Cartman.

"Well, if you ever want me to come with you to his place, I can always hang out."

The suggestion should fill Kyle with those now familiar Kenny-induced butterflies but he finds himself feeling steely and cold instead.

"Nah, it's cool, dude. I can handle it on my own. Thanks though."

When Kenny changes the topic Kyle is glad that he can forget about Cartman and go back to fretting over Kenny's intentions. Kyle zones out while Kenny discusses his favorite Say Anything songs and talks about how much ass he got at the last two concerts he went to. The jealously is faint this time. Kyle is too busy admiring Kenny's face.

When Kyle takes the check to the front of the diner to pay, Kenny leans his folded elbows on Kyle's shoulder and whispers a quiet thank you in his ear from behind. It gives Kyle chills, his body heating up instantly in response. Maybe he _can_ do this.

They start down the sidewalk. The sun has set early, like it always does in South Park, and Kenny puts his hood up to battle the chill. Kyle's confidence is building by the moment. He could just stop Kenny, right here in the middle of the dark street and kiss him. Kyle's gut tells him that Kenny is not going to protest, but his brain is screaming, ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!

They walk in silence, elbows rubbing together. Kyle is shaking. He thinks of the way Kenny touched him on the basketball court, or the way he had defended him to the boys at lunch a few days before. And Kenny had the opportunity to invite _Bebe_ to the concert and instead, he asked Kyle to go. Kyle isn't making this up- there's really something happening here.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, his legs feeling wobbly as he briefly loses his balance. "Uh, Kenny?"

Kenny stops and turns around to look at him. He leans his shoulder against a traffic signal pole on the edge of the curb. He's a little too far, and Kyle takes a few steps towards him. "Yeah?" he asks.

"I uh, have a question," Kyle stammers. Kenny is smiling and Kyle inhales sharply when Kenny's hand falls to the side of Kyle's face and caresses his cheek slowly.

"You're pretty cute, Kyle."

Kenny's hands warp around Kyle's neck as he draws the shorter boy towards him. He can smell the earthy aroma of Kenny's skin, mixed with stale cigarette smoke and it draws him closer. Kyle takes an over eager step into his body heat and trips. His hands grip clumsily at Kenny's parka to keep himself from falling, but he is going down fast regardless. Kenny stumbles backwards when Kyle's weight collides with him and his foot slips off the curb, land flat on his back on the side of the road. Kyle lands on his hands and knees on the sidewalk, watching as a semi-truck speeds down the road and drives over Kenny's body, killing him instantly.

Kyle swears under his breath, wiping Kenny's splattered blood from his face and standing up. He stares briefly at his mangled body in the street.

"Bastard. Who the fuck does he think he is?"

Kyle pulls himself to his feet, hissing at the denim of his jeans scraping against now skinned knees. They sting the entire walk home.

"Where have you been?" his mother asks him as he opens the front door. Kyle pulls off his coat but does not hang it up. It needs to be washed.

"It was Kenny's birthday. I went to the arcade and dinner with him."

"Why are you covered in blood?!"

"He got hit by a truck," Kyle sighs, walking past his mother and moving as quickly up the stairs as his knees will let him.

"That boy is bad luck, Bubbala. You should avoid him. And make sure you do your homework, please!" Her voice fades as he shuts his bedroom door, but he's sure she's still taking to him downstairs.

Kyle undresses slowly, frustrated and sad. Who knows how long Kenny is going to be gone this time? It was his fault too. He was over zealous. He still doesn't even know if Kenny was actually going to kiss him or not. Now he has to wait, alone, fretting and pondering and doubting everything between them.

He throws his hat on his desk, peeling his tight, dark green jeans off and letting them lay on the floor. He changes into his Terrance and Phillip sleep shirt and opts to not pull a pair of sweats over his boxers so that the fabric doesn't irritate his knees further.

He wanders down the hallway and into the bathroom so he can wash his hands. The edges of his palms scraped on the sidewalk too. Soap burns, but he hardly minds. Germs disgust him. He pours hydrogen peroxide over his knees and buries his face in his elbow as it foams and burns. Fucking Kenny. He puts some antibiotic ointment over the wounds but he has no band-aids big enough. He's going to have to suffer.

By the time he gets back to his bedroom, his cell phone is ringing. He walks towards it as fast as he can manage, but he misses the call. When he finally collapses on his bed and snatches the phone from the bedside table, Stan is calling again.

"Hello?"

"Hey, dude. What's up?"

"Just… got back from dinner with Kenny for his birthday," Kyle tells him, hoping that Stan won't be hurt by not being included.

"Yeah, Jimmy said he saw you guys leave school together. Sorry I couldn't come, my mom and dad wanted me to come with them to buy a new TV."

Typical Stan, Kyle smiles to himself. Even when he's not invited, he doesn't even realize it.

"A new TV?"

"Yeah! It's like forty-two inches!"

"Sick!"

"Yeah, you'll have to come over and see it tomorrow. Video games are bad ass."

Kyle frowns. "Can't dude, Cartman."

"Come over after. It's Friday."

"Alright, okay," Kyle agrees, smiling.

"How is Cartman? Sorry about asking at lunch, dude. My head has been elsewhere."

"It's alright, people were gonna find out any way, and he's okay. Actually," Kyle sighs, tugging at his shirt nervously. "I'll tell you about him if you wanna come over right now? I have some other things I want to talk to you about too."

"Sure, dude. I'll be right there."

Stan can always pick up on the tiniest bit of need in Kyle's voice. What a super best friend.

Kyle stays lying back on his bed, eyes shut. He's tired, but it's only seven, and he knows he won't be able to sleep unless he gets some of this stuff off of his chest. He hears Stan open his bedroom door just a few minutes after they hung up on the phone. He must have driven.

"Dude, fix your boxers. I can see your dick."

Kyle sits up quickly, hands flying to where the slit on his boxers had opened. He readjusts them, shaking his head as Stan laughs at him. His best friend collapses at the end of the bed and Kyle lies back down. Stan throws his hat and gloves on the floor, shrugging out of his coat and letting it lay on the bed.

"What happened to your knees?"

"I fell," Kyle sighed. "I fell into Kenny, actually, knocked him into the street. He got hit by a truck."

"Died?"

"Yep."

"Bastard. At least it wasn't you."

"I know, right? He dies all of the time, and we're always like, three feet away from dying ourselves. Why is it always him?"

"Because he can always come back."

Kyle has nothing to say to that. He nudges Stan's thigh with his foot.

"How was guitar?"

"Pretty cool, actually. Your brother is really good. And I've been practicing."

"Guitar is pretty sexy," Kyle comments.

"You're a fag, Kyle."

Kyle sits up slightly, leaning back on his elbows. Stan is looking back at him quietly.

"If I was, would it bother you?"

"Only if you were into Cartman."

"Fuck no, dude. Please."

"So, how was he?'

"He gained like, four hundred pounds, dude."

"Shit."

"He looks pretty bad. I'm surprised you can still be alive and be that huge. I don't know," Kyle trails off, starting to feel uncomfortable again. He can tell Stan anything, but some things just seem unnecessary to get into. Stan picks up on it and changes the topic.

"How was Kenny today?"

"Weird," Kyle admits. "He's been kind of…"

"Flirtatious?"

"Yeah," Kyle agrees, blushing. It concerns him that Stan noticed, but then again, of course he did.

"Like when he invited you to the concert and when we were playing basketball and all the time at school?"

Kyle laughs. He gives up. There's no reason to hide anything from Stan. He sits up, burying his face in his hands and groaning.

"He was getting my hopes up and then he had to go and _die._"

"That's Kenny for you," Stan smiles. "He's pretty predictable."

Kyle sighs, shrugging and staring back at Stan's knowing blue eyes.

"I can't even tell if he really likes me."

"He does," Stan says blankly.

"He told you?"

"Just don't let him hurt you," he says, his hand falling to Kyle's ankle and running slowly up his calf. His face looks a little sad.

"I won't," Kyle promises, even though Stan didn't answer his question. Stan smiles at him and stands.

"I gotta piss."

Kyle flops back in bed and throws an elbow over his eyes. He suddenly finds himself peaceful enough to sleep.

After emptying his bladder into the toilet, Stan is heading back to Kyle's room, but finds himself suddenly distracted by the music coming from the bedroom next door. Stan had almost forgotten Ike lived here. Almost.

The door is not shut, but it is only open a few inches. Stan tries to knock, and the door swings away from him. Ike looks up at him from where he's sitting on the floor, and Stan smiles nervously.

"Hey, I just heard you playing."

"You can come in."

Stan does so and shuts the door behind him. He sits down on the floor opposite of Ike. He can't ever remember really being in Ike's room before. At least not since the boy turned ten. The walls are covered in drawings and photographs and posters of bands he's never heard. Ike is fascinating.

"How's the practicing going?" Ike asks. Stan turns back towards him.

"Okay. My left hand hurts a lot."

"Yes, it will. It gets better."

"And I have a hard time reaching some of the frets. I think I need to show you so you can help me out."

Ike tilts his head, and gestures with his finger for Stan to come sit beside him. Stan obliges, and the guitar is suddenly in his lap. He feels weird holding Ike's guitar, but Ike is not fazed. He takes Stan's left hand in his and moves it to the second fret.

"Play a D chord."

Stan slowly adjusts his fingers and drags his right hand across the strings. The chord rings clear.

"C."

It takes a few moments of readjusting, but Stan is successful once again.

"E."

"This is the one I fuck up," Stan warns him, biting his lip as he moves his fingers. He hits the chord and it comes out sour.

"Yeah, that one is hard. Here, curl your fingers more. Use the tip of your finger, not the pad."

"Ouch."

"It's going to hurt. Learning new things always does."

It takes a few tries, and Stan's eyes are watering as his uncalloused fingers struggle to press the thin wires against the neck of the guitar, but he is eventually successful.

"This is going to take a lot of practice," Stan says aimlessly, handing the guitar back to its owner.

"We can practice more often if you'd like," Ike offers.

"That could be cool."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sure," Stan says, smiling. For the first time, Ike genuinely smiles back. It knocks Stan out.

"Play something?" Stan asks. "What were you playing before I walked in here?"

"Ben Gibbard. California Zephyr."

"Okay," Stan says. "Play that."

Ike nods, and his fingers move across the guitar with ease. A few bars in, he beigns to sing, and Stan watches him, captivated by the music.

"Up the Hudson Valley across New York State to Chicago then the plains. All so easy and dreamlike, crashing the salt flat daybreak. I hear, "I'll take you home again, Kathleen," sad fog winds out there to blow- across the rooftops of eerie old hangover San Francisco…"

Stan leans back against Ike's bed, watching him play and listening to him sing.

"I've never been out of Colorado, really," he tells him. "I went to Africa and Afghanistan when I was younger by accident. But I've never really been around the United States. Do you remember San Francisco?"

"Yes," Ike tells him, watching Stan's face as he eases into the chorus. "Now I'm transcontinental, three thousand miles from my home. I'm on the California Zephyr watching America roll by. Now I'm transcontinental, three thousand miles from my home. I'm on the California Zephyr watching America roll by…"

"You should get out of South Park for a bit," Ike tells Stan. "Just to look around."

"Maybe one day."

Stan listen as Ike finishes the song, shutting his eyes and just letting the music relax him. Ike has a beautiful voice and music is a wonderful thing. He hardly realizes how long he's been sitting in Ike's bedroom, listening to him silently while he plays and sings. Finally, Ike lowers his guitar and says his name and Stan opens his eyes to face him.

"It's nine thirty. My mom is gonna be pissed if you don't leave soon."

"What?" Stan checks his phone and is shocked by the time. He frowns. "Sorry, man, I didn't realize I fell asleep."

"That's okay," Ike smiles softly. He stands up and helps Stan to his feet.

"You're pretty tall for a thirteen year old," Stan notes. He's able to look directly into his black, steely eyes.

"I'm Canadian," Ike says blankly.

Stan suddenly doesn't know what to say, and he waves good-bye awkwardly before exiting his room. He tip toes down the hallway and into Kyle's room, embarrassed that he was gone for so long, but Kyle is knocked out on his bed, which explains why he didn't come looking for him. Stan pulls on his coat and shoves his hat and gloves into his pockets. He throws a blanket over Kyle's slumbering body, hits the lights off and leaves the Broflovski house.

"Lock the door, Stan, dear," Mrs. Broflovski calls out from the living room as he exits the house.

"Sure thing. Thanks for letting me come over!"

He checks the door to see if it's really locked and lets his eyes cast upwards to the two bedrooms on the second story. Stan watches as Ike's light goes out as well, and he sighs, climbing into his car and driving home.

* * *

**Author's notes**

Thank you so much for reading! I don't have much to say, other than I know Kenny's birthday is not in September, but I took a little creative liberty with that and put it in the beginning of the school year.

I hope you're enjoying it so far!! Thank you for all of the great reviews. I will continue trying to stay on top of this update wise. College and work can be a time consuming, but I know how much it sucks to have to wait between chapters :)


	4. Stupid MF

**Well**

**Chapter Four – Stupid MF**

The first Friday of the school year turns out to be remarkably shitty for Kyle. The list of irritations is long: his knees hurt, people won't leave him alone with their questions about Cartman, and at the top of the list is Kyle's anger towards Kenny for dying the night before. He is left alone, crushing on a dead guy with no concrete clues that Kenny feels the same other than a "you're pretty cute, Kyle." He stares at Stan across the classroom, thinking about how when he came over last night, he had told Kyle that Kenny _did _like him. He finds it confusing and shocking that Kenny would have told Stan something like that. Then again, when Kyle had asked Stan how he knew that, Stan didn't give him a straight answer. Maybe Kenny didn't tell him at all. Maybe Stan is some crazy mind reader. Kyle can almost believe it- Stan is so average that he's got to have _something _going for him. So maybe Kenny does really like him. Cool, now he just has to wait for the zombie to take his sweet time working his way back to South Park.

The school day finally draws to an end, and even for a dedicated student like Kyle, Fridays are not meant to do homework. When the bell rings, he should be running home. Or to Stan's house to play Grand Theft Auto on his brand new forty-two inch screen plasma TV. But that'll have to wait. He has to go see Cartman on Fridays.

"I'll call you when I'm done," Kyle tells Stan just before they part ways at Cartman's street.

"Good luck," Stan wishes him.

"Dude," Kyle says. "You look so different without your hat."

"You see me without my hat all of the time."

"Not outside."

"It's not really that cold out here," Stan admits. Kyle shrugs, and they wave a brief good-bye before Kyle reluctantly turns around and heads for the Cartman residence.

There is a note taped on the door for Kyle when he gets there. Leann is already gone. He has a feeling this is going to be a trend with these tutoring sessions. He almost doesn't mind. Cartman is going to call him a jew-fag whether his mom is around or not, and it's less embarrassing when there's no one else there to hear it. Upon further inspection, the note tells him that there is a key to the house underneath the welcome mat; it's his to keep.

He unlocks the door and it's a strange feeling. He never even has to unlock his own house door. Rarely does he come home when no one else is there. He steps inside Cartman's warm, dark house and pauses in the foyer. He digs through his backpack, pulling up the keychain he keeps there with such unused keys like the ones to his house, his garage and his bike lock. He slowly slides the key to Cartman's front door on with the rest.

Before stepping into the living room, Kyle promises himself to not let Cartman upset him today. He will put up with anything the asshole throws his way, and he's not going to pity the guy just because he's fat. God forbid he let his guard down around Cartman on his home turf.

He flips the light on and Cartman groans again. The sight of his massive body shocks Kyle again, despite knowing what to expect. He still can't wrap his head around seven hundred and fifty pounds. Cartman is wearing the same clothes he was in on Wednesday. He wonders if those are the only colors XXXXXXL clothing comes in, or if he only has one set.

"It's three thirty in the afternoon," Kyle announces. "Why the fuck do you have the light off?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Cartman snaps at him. "Don't come in my house and insult me, Jew."

"Were you taking a nap?"

"Sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?" Kyle asks, setting his things down on the coffee table and unpacking his backpack.

"I was just sort of laying here and thinking."

"About what? I didn't know you knew how to think," Kyle bites. His bitterness is surprising even himself, but who can blame him. It's Friday and he's stuck with nearly half a ton of Nazi.

"I was thinking about Gene and Finny," Cartman tells him.

Kyle's hand is closing around _A Separate Peace_ as he speaks, and it intrigues Kyle to hear that Cartman had actually been thinking about the novel in their time apart. He pulls the book out of his backpack and sits down on the couch.

"How did you get in my house?" Cartman suddenly asks. He does not even lift his head to speak to Kyle, his eyes just roll weakly in his skull to angle towards him.

"Your mom gave me a key."

"The fuck?"

"She gave me a key."

"Are you fucking serious? She gave a fucking Jew a key? Doesn't she know you're going to come in here and steal all of our valuables?"

"Jews aren't thieves, Cartman!"

"You're probably going to take her jewelry to the pawn shop."

"I get the money jokes, dude, but where'd you get the idea that Jews are thieves?"

"Can't ever trust a kike, Kahl."

"FUCK YOU, FAT ASS."

And eerie silence falls over the room. Cartman's mattress creaks as he shifts slightly on top of it. Kyle wonders if he should apologize. Cartman makes the decision for him.

"Go make me a sandwich."

"Dude, I'm not your fucking bitch. And I don't think you should be eating. Aren't you on a diet or something?"

"Once again, who the hell do you think you are? You're supposed to help me with whatever I need."

"You need to be losing weight."

"I don't care, anymore."

"I'm not making you a sandwich."

Kyle pulls out notes he took in class over the past few days, reviewing what he's going to relay to Cartman. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He can feel Cartman's eyes on him and he tries to ignore it.

"Ginger."

Kyle ignores him. If he has to spend three days a week with this stupid motherfucker, he's going to have to develop selective hearing. He leans back against the couch, opens to the fourth chapter of the novel, and begins to read.

Cartman is quiet for the entire forty-five minutes that Kyle reads to him and the room is peaceful. Kyle is enjoying the story in the novel and Cartman isn't protesting. He has to imagine that a little mental stimulation feels good for Cartman. There is a television set up in his line of sight, but he knows the shit they show on TV during the daytime is dreadful anyway.

He finally sets the book down but leaves it open on the couch, reaching for his class notes, but before he has a chance to speak, Cartman interrupts him.

"Have you ever climbed a tree?"

"Yeah, at Jewbilee camp," Kyle answers. "Never really in South Park. And only when I was younger."

It looks like Cartman is nodding, but the motion is lost beneath his thick neck.

"It sounds kind of cool the way they describe it in the book."

"It sounds scary," Kyle counters.

"Yeah."

"Well, lose some weight and you can go outside and climb a tree," Kyle tells him.

"Do you have to bring that up?"

"I'm just saying."

"Saying what?"

"That you've got to miss the outside world."

"There's nothing the outside world offers me that I don't have in here."

"That's not true, Cartman," Kyle frowns. He cannot help but think that Cartman is a prisoner in his body, but Cartman grunts and speaks again.

"In the novel, the outside world is miserable. They're just raging war and killing people and no one is happy."

"I never thought I'd hear you say a negative word about World War II," Kyle admits with a mock tone of awe. Cartman ignores him, raising a hand slowly and with great effort so that he can scratch his forehead. It is the first time Kyle has really seen Cartman move. It is sickly fascinated the way his fat moves entirely separate from his bones.

"I have a copy of the book for you, you know," Kyle reminds him. "If you'd like me to leave it here. You can read it during the day. I can leave a copy of Mr. Garrison's notes too."

"Okay."

"Okay," Kyle repeats, standing up and setting the book and a few pages ripped from his spiral notebook on the tray table that had been set up beside Cartman's bed. Kyle stares down at Cartman for a moment and Cartman growls at him, startling Kyle, who gasps and backs away.

"I have some math homework you need to do. Can you sit up? If you can't, I can write down the answers for you."

"I fucking hate you, faggot."

Being called a faggot reminds Kyle of Kenny. And of Stan. Two people he'd much rather be with right now.

"Right back at you."

According to Cartman, he can sit up, but he doesn't feel like it right now, and he'd enjoy forcing a Jew to do his homework for him. Kyle groans, reading off question after question to Cartman and getting, "I don't know," as an answer to each one. He does the questions himself. He'd better not get in fucking trouble for this. He'll sneak into the house and suffocate Cartman in his sleep.

It takes three and a half hours to catch Cartman up on all of the work Mr. Garrison had assigned in their first week of school, and three and a half hours with Cartman's indignation and rude behavior left Kyle exhausted. He exits Cartman's house and shuts the light off before he goes per Cartman's request. He locks the door and leans his forehead against the cold paint.

He pulls out his phone and hits speed dial one.

-

Stan walks home from school, enjoying the way the wind ruffles his hair. He pulls his gloves off as well, shoving them in his backpack and letting the air pass over his palms. Ike was right. It's really not that cold out here. How come he never noticed that before?

Stan hardly enters his house before he's out of it again, climbing into his car and driving to Ike's house… or Kyle's house… the Broflovski house, to pick Ike up. Ike is outside when he pulls out front and he's thankful that he didn't have to knock on the door. He knew Kyle wasn't there, and Mrs. Broflovski would probably give him a strange look for picking Ike up. It is and it isn't surprising that Ike can just leave the house whenever he wants. He doesn't seem to wear the ball and chain that his mother has locked on to his older brother.

Ike climbs into the car and grins at Stan, shoving his guitar into the backseat and holding a few stacks of chords and tablatures in his lap. Stan finds himself taken aback by Ike's smile. It's so strange to see an expression coming from a boy with hardly any face.

They're quiet as they drive back to Stan's house and he wonders why Ike didn't just walk home with him in the first place. Neither of them had thought of it. It almost seems like they're keeping this a secret, and Stan wonders why. At the same time, he is not eager to tell any one that he's spending so much time with an eighth grader.

When Stan pulls his car into the garage, he walks around to Ike's side to help him carry the music inside. They walk through the kitchen door and Stan's parents both greet Ike warmly.

"Long time no-see, small Broflovski!"

"You're not funny, Dad," Stan warns him.

"It's pretty cool that you're teaching Stan how to play my old guitar. I used to be a rock star on that thing. Back in the summer of '72, you should have seen—"

"Okay, Dad," Stan interrupts. He grabs Ike by the elbow and drags him upstairs.

"Sorry," he apologizes to the other boy as they walk into Stan's room and shut the door. "That could have gone on forever."

"Your dad really hasn't changed," Ike chuckles. "And I think the last time I saw him I was six."

Ike sits down on Stan's bed in a way that says he's already comfortable here. He reaches for Stan's guitar instead of his own, already out of its case, and starts to play an aimless blend of chord progressions and finger plucking sequences that Stan wonders if Ike wrote himself.

Stan sits on the end of the bed and watches him play for a while. It seems that the song has no words. It seems as if it could go on forever. So much so, that it almost makes Stan sad when Ike stops. He sits up and hands Stan a piece of paper before leaning back against his headboard once more.

"What's this?" he asks nervously, staring down at the foreign language of numbers and letters on the paper.

"Tabs for a song you're going to learn."

"It looks hard."

"It is."

Stan frets. "Does it have words?"

"Yes, but I'll teach them to you once you can play the song."

Ike hands the guitar back to Stan and he rests a comforting hand on Stan's thigh, settling next to him on the bed.

"Relax. No one is rushing you but me."

Stan still feels awkward with his guitar. In Ike's words, he still is afraid of being considered a poser, to a degree. He has to remind himself he's allowed to learn how to do something new.

"The beginning of this song," Ike explains, dragging his finger over the tabs on the paper, "is all finger picking, but it has over lapping notes, so you have to pick with multiple fingers at once. Sort of like banjo."

Stan stares blankly at Ike beside him. "Ike."

"Let's start with the first three notes," he smiles.

Stan obliges.

They work on the nameless song for an hour, Stan frequently having to pause and suck on his fingertips, red and raw with the effort of pressing the strings down. Even when they switch to an "easier" song, Stan feels frustrated. It seems hopeless. He can rarely get a chord out correctly, and when he by chance is able to, it takes too long for him to find the next finger position, or he can't remember what an A chord is, or he can't seem to pluck the correct strings. Stan tries to keep his aggravation to himself, but it seems that his teacher picks up on it anyway.

"Hey, it gets better, I promise," Ike tells him.

"Will you play something for a little while?" Stan pleads.

Ike laughs softly and reaches for his guitar. Stan sets his down on the floor and crawls on the bed behind Ike, lying down with Ike sitting near his feet. Ike plays a simple, smooth song without many lyrics, and Stan doesn't feel like Ike will mind if he talks.

"What was San Francisco like?"

"Very different to South Park," Ike tells him.

"Like how?"

"It's warm, and next to the ocean. People paint on the sidewalk."

"Like graffiti?"

"Yes, only it's not considered vandalism."

"That's cool."

"People are happier there."

"Because of the beach?"

"Because it's not South Park."

Ike starts to sing, his voice quiet. "'Cause what I feel inside, I don't want to hide. It's you that got to me. It's what I want to sing, 'cause I've got a dream for us running through my mind, sitting on the beach, looking at the sea…"

"What color were the walls in your house there?" Stan asks.

"White."

"Weird," Stan murmurs, his voice drifting into the air along with Ike's music.

"Most houses and schools and buildings have white walls. South Park is the exception. And lying there is teaching you nothing, Stan."

"I'm learning," he retorts. Ike doesn't argue it.

"You know, in other states, high schoolers have a different teacher for every subject. And you get a new teacher every year. If you went to school in San Francisco, you would have only been in Mr. Garrison's class for one year."

"Whoa, really? I thought that shit only existed in books and movies."

"Really."

Stan stares up at the ceiling. He feels confused.

"I think life is too short to be wasted in school," Ike admits. "What are we supposed to do? Go to school for the first half of our lives just so we can work for the second half? Life is miserable."

"Yeah," Stan sighs. The gears in his head are turning frantically with everything Ike says. He feels uneasy, and he's thankful when the younger boy begins to sing again.

"And we're old and tired. And time has made us smile as we go on counting things- people in the breeze. We're not the only ones. There's hundreds on the shore looking at the sea…"

"Does it snow in San Francisco?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"How come it never stops here? That's not normal, is it?"

"No," Ike says. "Especially since Denver gets hot."

"If it's not normal, why don't meteorologists come study us?"

"I don't think any one really knows we exist, Stan."

Stan sits up suddenly, looking hard at Ike's face and longing for some eye contact, but the boy, devoid of emotion, just sings. His black hair falls over his eyes and his head rocks gently with his music.

"But it's just you and me. If the day never comes, I sink beneath the tide. Will you still be with me or disappear?"

He climbs off of his bed and picks his guitar off the ground, sitting down next to Ike. He strums aimlessly on a D chord.

"Okay," he says. "I'm ready to learn more."

Stan works hard for the next hour or so. They bounce back between the hard song Ike wants him to learn and a few easier sequences. Ike plays along with Stan, and Stan tries to keep up. However, he is feeling less discouraged. If he gets off or hits a wrong note, he just catches back on to Ike's lead a few seconds later. Stan is starting to feel proud of himself. His fingers are practically bleeding, but it's okay. He's making music.

After a while, he sets his guitar down and looks over the boy beside him. Ike is wearing a blue sweatshirt today. Yesterday, it was white. The day before, it had been grey. He feels a little foolish having noticed the color of his clothes, but it's so rare that someone has more then one outfit they wear to school. He finds it intriguing. Stan glances over at his own closet, hanging open. He's got about five brown jackets with red collars. He always thought he was being original- no one else wore them in South Park that he knew of. He's got a couple white t-shirts that he wears underneath, and other than that, things are the same. Red gloves, red and blue hat, blue jeans. His stash of hats lies untouched on his dresser. He hasn't worn one in a couple days.

"How come it's not that cold with my hat off?"

"I don't know," Ike tells him. "I don't have all of the answers, dude. I'm thirteen."

"Maybe I'm just used to the cold," Stan says. He picks up his guitar again. "You sure don't act thirteen."

Ike plays the intro to the difficult song and when Stan recognizes it, he grabs the sheet of music and tries to follow along. Ike seems to be smiling as he watches him. Stan is one hundred percent focused in trying to decipher the tabs. He's not going to let Ike down on this one.

"Stan, your phone is ringing."

"Huh?"

"Your phone."

"What? Oh!" Stan reaches for his cell phone on the bedside table, vibrating in circles. Kyle is calling and Stan's heart skips a beat. He totally forgot he was supposed to hang out with him today. He didn't realize Ike would be here this long.

"Hello?"

"Hey, dude. I'm leaving Cartman's."

Stan is stuck. He doesn't want to send Ike home and he feels like for some reason, Kyle shouldn't know he's spending the extra time with his little brother. It somehow feels deceitful, and Stan can't figure out why. He just knows it'd be strange if Kyle came over and Ike was in his bedroom, singing and playing guitar.

"Uh, yeah. I should have called sooner, but my parents don't want any company tonight. Shelly got a new boyfriend I guess, she's bringing him over for dinner."

"Oh."

"Sorry, dude."

"It's cool. I'll talk to you later."

Kyle hangs up and Stan feels odd having lied to his best friend. He fidgets with the phone in his hand and looks back up at Kyle's little brother, who is watching him curiously.

"Stan! Ike!" Randy's voice booms through the hallway. "It's time for dinner!"

-

Butters sits on the floor of his closet. It's a Friday night and his parents have company over, but he's managed to sneak away for a few moments, and once he shuts the door in front of him, his closet is the quietest, darkest part of the house.

He pulls his knees to his chest and shuts his eyes, his forehead resting on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and slows his heart rate. This is peaceful.

School is so stressful for Butters. All he wants is for everyone to be happy, and the day to day arguments and disagreements among the boys of South Park High cause a great deal of anxiety in Butters. He worries so much for everyone.

On top of that, Butters wants nothing more to just fit in. He can't quite seem to achieve the same level of carefree, crude and cruel humor as his friends, and he's often the butt of everyone's jokes. Even Jimmy makes fun of him, and Jimmy is a fucking cripple.

He opens his eyes for a moment, looking around in the dark space. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees his Professor Chaos outfit and helmet hanging on a hook in the corner. He smiles to himself. He's got a little evil in him. Everyone does.

But Professor Chaos is not who he really is, and it's been years since he's let himself access the anger and frustration that boils inside him. Butters doesn't even understand why he has so much pain. Maybe it's being bullied. Maybe it's always feeling stupid and being embarrassed when he just tries to succeed. Maybe it's because his parents treat him like an incompetent, incapable idiot.

"Butters? Butters?"

He can hear his parents' muffled voices from downstairs. He ignores them. He doesn't need to be a bus boy for their dinner guests. Butters shuts his eyes again and allows himself to drift.

Butters wouldn't know, but if he thinks that if he were to smoke marijuana, this is what it would feel like. He feels warm and heavy, almost as if he's wrapped up in a fog that quite literally picks him up and drops him off elsewhere. When he is able to sit here in the still, silent darkness for long enough, Butters is able to get away.

He lands with soft grass beneath him and tall mountains around him. There is a crystal blue river running calmly through the middle of the enormous field and beautiful, jewel toned castles scatter the land. Butters stands, ducking beneath a patch of giant red spotted mushrooms and crossing a bridge into the flag waving city, embellished with turrets and towers, solid gold street lamps and sparkling cobblestones.

Unlike South Park, here, Butters is always greeted like a hero. Here, Butters feels at home.


	5. When You're Around

**Well**

**Chapter Five – When You're Around**

Kyle has never had hate for Cartman deeper and more passionate than the hatred that has developed over the last three weeks. Eric Cartman, simply put, is a nightmare Kyle cannot wake up from.

"It's five o' clock," Kyle tells him, setting down his U.S. history book. He sighs and stands, walking over to Cartman's bed and opening the drawer beside it. He's still not sure if Cartman is lying to him or not, but he told Kyle two weeks ago that he's supposed to exercise every three hours and since Leann was _never _home when Kyle was here, Kyle would have to help him.

He wishes he could say no, but Kyle is too kind of a person. He thinks it must be a mental illness, or a debilitating personality disorder, to be willing to help someone he so despises. He is supposed to be here to help Cartman stay caught up on schoolwork, not to help him lose weight. Kyle knows he hardly has a choice though. What's he supposed to do? Say no and become an enabler towards Cartman's tragically potential death by obesity? He can't do that. As cruel as Cartman is, he wants to see him on his feet one day.

Cartman's exercises involve a stretchy loop of rubber, resembling something like a large rubber band, but much easier to stretch than a rubber band of this size would be. Kyle pulls it out of the drawer and lays it on the edge of the bed, moving over to Cartman and grabbing his hands to help him sit up.

"Go get me some water first," Cartman demands, his hands limp in Kyle's.

"When did I become your nurse?" Kyle groans, leaving the living room and walking into the kitchen, despite his complaint.

"You love it, Jew-fag."

Kyle shakes his head, heading for the cabinet and grabbing a plastic refillable cup from a fast food restaurant. Cartman has a tendency to knock cups over when left on his bedside table, as he doesn't have very accurate control of his heavy arms. Plus, he needs a straw if he's going to be able to drink it while lying down. Kyle moves to the sink and fills the cup from the water filter. He feels oddly comfortable in the Cartman household now even if only when Cartman is being quiet.

He returns to the living room and sets the cup down, reaching for Cartman's hands again. This time, he doesn't protest, and it's a struggle for both boys as they pull his massive body into an upright position. When Cartman is sitting up, it hardly looks like it. He is a shapeless heap of flesh, his head protruding from a circular mound of red, spotted, overworked skin. His arms hang heavily over his stomach, his hands miniscule in comparison to the rest of him. His legs are splayed out more to the side than in front of him, the mass of his thighs keeping him from bringing them together.

Kyle lets go of his hands slowly, making sure he is balanced. Whenever they do this, Cartman seems to stop talking, and Kyle almost finds it peaceful, no matter his leaving of discomfort and awkwardness. He grabs the rubber exercise band and hands it to Cartman, helping him wrap the material around his near useless hands. Cartman jerks away from him harshly, but when Kyle gives him a firm, "stop it," he sits still again. He has to kneel on the edge of Cartman's mattress to reach his other hand, and after they have the crude device strapped on, Kyle stays sitting on the edge of the bed.

The neck of Cartman's white shirt has been cut with a pair of scissors into a low V. He said it was choking him whenever he lied down and he couldn't sleep. It gives Kyle a clear view of his chest as he stretches the band between his arms. The smooth tissue clinging to his upper trunk ripples as he moves and grunts. The weight of his arms swing off his bones, always one motion behind the next repetition. Kyle can never look away.

Cartman is supposed to do three sets of fifteen expansions. Sometimes, he does more, and Kyle doesn't rush him. When he decides he's done, he throws the rubber weakly back at Kyle, and Kyle climbs off the bed, puts it away, and hands him the cup of water.

Kyle tries to ignore the way Cartman struggles to catch his breath, panting and rubbing at the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead. It makes him uncomfortable. He walks back over to the couch and plunges a hand into his backpack, pulling out a folder he had designated for Cartman's unfortunately failed tests.

"Dude, we need to talk," Kyle tells him, breaking the silence. When Cartman doesn't respond he turns around to face him, feeling small in his empty gaze.

"You, uh, you've failed every test I've given you this month."

"How many?"

"Three?" Kyle says, puzzled. "You can't even remember how many tests you've taken?"

Cartman shrugs and Kyle sighs.

"You failed a math test, a history test and a test on what happens in _A Separate Peace _which I read _to you_ and I _know_ you knew the answers!" Kyle growls at him, frustrated.

Cartman shrugs again.

"Don't you give a shit about your grade?"

"I think it'd be more fun to sabotage yours," he smirks.

"I hate you."

"I hate _you, _faggot!"

"WHY?!" Kyle shouts, the frustration from the past month reaching an unmanageable point. He boils over. "All I've ever done is be kind to you! I _never _say anything mean to you unless you fucking START IT. I've even tried to HELP your fat ass on occasion! I don't fucking have to be here, Cartman. I don't have to sit here and do your homework when I could be with Kenny, or Stan. I don't have to listen to you bitch and moan. I'm smart enough to get into college without your pity story on my resume. All the things you done to me, Cartman?! All the times you've almost had me KILLED. I should leave you here alone, in the dark, suffocating inside your own body. I don't give a shit about you! I don't want to care about you anymore."

Kyle feels close to tears as he watches Cartman slowly lie back on the mattress, indifferent to Kyle's explosion.

"Go home, Kahl," he tells him simply.

Kyle grabs his things and runs, in too much of a hurry to remember to lock the front door on his way out.

When Kyle gets home, he paces around his room for a few minutes, restless. He feels wound up, tight, and tense. It's Wednesday night, and he knows he should be doing his homework, but he can't stand the idea of sitting still right now. He has too much energy.

He exits his room again and nearly runs into his little brother, who seems to be leaving the house, guitar case in hand.

"Where are you going?"

"Why do you care?'

"Don't be an asshole, Ike," Kyle groans, leaning back against his doorframe. His younger brother looks him over for a moment and then leaves without another word.

Kyle pulls out his phone and calls Stan but his best friend is busy. Again. His family has been really demanding lately. Kyle considers going downstairs to fuck around on playstation, but he knows his mother will give him a hard time. He stamps his foot and throws his hat down in a miniature tantrum, storming back into his room and shutting the door.

He may as well do some homework.

The next morning when Stan joins Kyle at the bus stop Kyle is too taken aback by Stan's clothes to ask him why his family has been so needy as of late.

"Dude," Kyle says slowly. He can tell his mouth is hanging out, but he does not bother to shut it.

"What?" Stan asks, obviously mocking obliviousness to why Kyle is so confused. His eyes are staring ahead, not at his best friend.

"You're… wearing purple."

Kyle is so confused and all Stan does is shrug. His eyes rake over his body. He just doesn't get it. Stan is sans hat, his black hair ruffling in a breeze that is making Kyle shiver. His eyes are shining bright, the blue reflected by the deep purple of his lightweight sweater. He is dumbfounded.

"Looking sharp, Stan!"

Both boys turn to face the voice that has approached them.

"Kenny!" they both exclaim.

Kyle wants to hug him. He hadn't realized how much he missed Kenny in the near month he was gone. All of the feelings of attraction and desire for his friend that he had suppressed in his time away comes rushing back, increased ten fold. Things have been so horrific with Cartman and Stan's distant behavior has been so on and off in the past month. Well, more on that anything. Kyle can feel Stan's eyes watching him curiously, and Kyle realizes this moment is more awkward than he initially perceived. Stan knows Kyle likes Kenny, and apparently he knows Kenny likes Kyle as well. What does Kenny know? Is Kyle the one in the dark here?

"Thanks for pushing me into that truck, Kyle," Kenny teases, nudging him with his elbow. Kyle shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly at a loss for words.

"Sorry," he manages.

Kenny frowns. "Dude, where's your sense of humor? Has Cartman really been that bad?"

Kyle just nods.

"Do you have to see him today? What is it, Thursday?"

"Yeah, it's Thursday, so no, I don't."

"Okay," Kenny beams at him. "Come over then."

"To… your house?"

"Why not?"

Kyle can't remember the last time he went to Kenny's house. It's such a piece of shit that they almost always go to someone else's. There's nothing to do in Kenny's house; he's too poor to pay for anything. However, the gesture feels radically intimate, and the idea of being alone in Kenny's house with him is giving Kyle jitters.

He glances over to Stan, standing there in his purple sweater. Stan seems a little concerned, his brow furrowed as he watches Kyle and Kenny, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful Kyle chews on his lower lip, afraid Stan is feeling left out.

"You… wanna come, dude?"

Stan shakes his head. "No," he mumbles, eyes studying Kyle's face hard. Kyle feels uneasy, but Kenny's hand falls to his lower back and everything else seems to melt away.

"GET ON THE BUS, YOU LAZY PIECES OF SHIT!!"

Kenny seems to need all of Kyle's attention today but Kyle hardly minds. Kenny has to catch up on everything he missed in class, since Mr. Garrison apparently no longer accepts "but… I was dead," as an excused absence. It almost feels strange to hand Kenny his stack of notes for Cartman, but he has to admit, tutoring Kenny is much more enjoyable.

They stay in Mr. Garrison's room at lunch, going over math problems and talking about Gene and Finny. They hardly seem to be getting work done though. Kyle is just too happy that Kenny is back in South Park, and he is finding himself lost in the blonde's dazzling smile and smoldering eyes. All he can think about is what Stan had told him, and how the affectionate hand on his thigh seems to confirm Stan's declaration. Kenny makes him laugh repeatedly, and Kyle giggles like a little girl.

After school, the two boys walk through the less desirable corner of South Park where Kenny's run down house sags sadly on its grassless plot of land. Being in the ghetto has never felt so good.

Despite not having been here in at least five or six years, nothing has really changed. The house is a little dirty, but it always was. The only noteworthy difference is the fact that Kenny is alone here now. Three years ago, the McCormick's moved out of South Park in an attempt to leave their misfortunate behind them. In his new home, Kenny caught pneumonia and died. When he woke up a week later, he was back in his bed in South Park. His parents never came looking for him, and he returned the favor.

They move through the living room and Kyle collapses on the couch, removing his gloves but leaving on his hat and coat. Kenny has no way to pay for heat or electricity, and the house is always dark and cold. He sometimes wonders why Kenny never took the Marshs' offer to move in with them but he thinks it may have something to do with resenting the fact that he causes worry. You'd never know that by watching him. Kenny exudes self-affirmation, confidence, and an ego the size of Mars.

Kenny unzips his parka, digging a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting it. Kyle starts to think about how Kenny mentioned he doesn't pay for his cigarettes and he wonders if he steals, but his thought process ends quickly. Kenny is eyeing him hungrily from where he stands in the middle of the room and Kyle releases a shaky breath.

"What are you thinking?" Kyle asks him, uncertain. He wants nothing more than for Kenny to sit down beside him.

"Are you excited for the concert next week?"

Kyle smiles and nods, "I was afraid you were going to miss it."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"Why do you smoke so much?"

"Numbs the pain of dying repeatedly," he answers solemnly.

Kenny sits down on a beat up coffee table on the other side of the room. He has drawn all over the wood with a sharpie, curiously morbid doodles of monsters and demons. Then again, Kenny is a curiously morbid person. Kyle stares at his chest where he can see it dip and swell beneath the tattered and stained fabric of his wife beater. Kyle wonders how much Kenny can actually control the time he spends away from South Park. He wants to know which reality he prefers. Hell has got to be a great deal warmer than this forsaken mountain town.

Kyle feels uncomfortable. He doesn't understand what they're supposed to be doing. Neither of them have much to say and there isn't anything to do in Kenny's house. He sits there and stares at the other boy, watching as smoke slowly leaves Kenny's barely parted lips. Snowy hair falls soft and smooth over his forehead, seductive eyebrows framing soulful eyes. His shirt clings to his muscled chest below a well-defined collarbone, tempting and taunting. Okay, he'll admit it. Kenny is hot.

He understands why every girl in South Park whimpers at the utterance of his name. He just never let himself look at Kenny like this before. He kept his homosexual fantasies to admiring Clyde Donovan from afar. It's hard for him to believe that the high school's bad boy womanizer was interested in his scrawny, _male_ ass, but then again, Kyle trusts Stan with all his heart and with that uncharacteristically simple thought process Kyle's bravery is building.

He takes a deep breath and asks, "Why are you sitting so far away?"

With the cigarette between his lips, Kenny smirks, stands, and closes the distance between them.

Kenny is even more beautiful up close and Kyle feels his face flushing. It doesn't help that Kenny reaches forward and tugs his hat off of his head. Kyle's cheeks burn and he stares at the boy in front of him. It was only his hat, but Kyle suddenly feels naked beneath Kenny's gaze. He watches as Kenny lifts the cigarette to his lips again. The smell of his tobacco is enticing and Kyle breathes it in deeply. Kenny feels like a wonderful sin.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Kenny tells him. Kyle wonders if this is how he tricks girls into fucking him. He leans forward and kisses Kenny himself.

Kenny exhales a lung full of nicotine into Kyle's mouth and Kyle coughs, pulling back sharply for just a moment before Kenny has moved against him again, an arm snaking around his lower back and a hand steady and firm on the back of his neck. He never could imagined his first kiss would be like this and he gasps as Kenny opens his mouth against his and licks a surprisingly erotic trail along his lower lip.

Kyle parts his lips in response, his body growing weak when Kenny begins to stroke their tongue together. He tastes like the cigarette that Kenny has since let fall to the floor and Kyle kisses him back, pressing his tongue against the underside of his teeth, aching for more. His hands grab a hold of the open edges of Kenny's jacket and Kenny takes one of Kyle's wrists in his hand, gently placing his open palm on his chest. Kyle can feel the heat of Kenny's skin and the beating of his heart. He can feel himself whimper into Kenny's mouth.

Kenny's lips turn up against Kyle's and he presses forward. Kyle does not fight it as Kenny lays him back on the dingy couch. He places his other hand on Kenny's chest as well, slowly dragging them down to his stomach and back up to his solid chest, admiring the way he feels beneath his fingertips.

Kyle is feeling more than he knew was possible. He always expected kissing like this to be gross, but he finds he suddenly cannot be bothered by the slightly crude act of stroking tongues, as he is lost in his primal instincts to kiss harder, and faster and forever. A part of himself he has never experienced awakens inside of him, and Kyle wants more.

Arousal grips him, and he breaks away from Kenny's lips for air. He opens his eyes to admire the boy leaning over him and he smiles nervously. Once again, Kenny smiles at him in a way that leaves Kyle reduced to his very basic desires, but Kyle's worries bubble slowly to the surface and he timidly opens his mouth to speak.

"I'm not just another girl to fuck, right?" Kyle asks softly.

"I wouldn't do that to you," Kenny promises him. "You're one of my best friends."

**Author's Notes**

I'm sorry that this chapter is shorter. :( I had told myself that 4k was the minimum word count for each but my outline is pretty set in stone now and I didn't want to go into the next scene yet. So, I'm sorry if the next few chapters are a bit short. I hope you enjoy the story anyway!


	6. Alive With the Glory of Love

**Well **

**Chapter Six - Alive With the Glory of Love**

The next week of tutoring doesn't start out much better for Kyle. They continue as if Kyle never exploded on Cartman, since, well, Kyle always explodes on Cartman. And continuing on as if Kyle never exploded means Cartman continues to rag on his religion, his hair color, and his (however unannounced) sexual preference. It has only been a month since school started, but the past month has felt like an eternity.

Everything about this situation irritates Kyle. He despises having to be around Cartman and his nasty attitude. It drives Kyle crazy to have to wait on the walrus whenever he needs a drink of water or the sun is in his eyes. And most of all, he hates having to teach a student that refuses to listen to him. It seems like the only time Cartman actually listens is when Kyle is reading, and so Kyle has started to read a lot. He wants nothing more on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to go to Kenny's house, lay down on his couch, and make out.

Whenever Friday rolls around, Kyle's level of apathy has reached a remarkable high, and he spends most of Friday afternoons laying down on Cartman's couch and reading _A Separate Peace _aloud into the silent room. It seems that both and Kyle and Cartman are fascinated with the book. Kyle finds the deep, twisted relationship between the best friend protagonists intriguing and shaking. Cartman probably likes that it takes place during his favorite war. Kyle is able to disregard the fact and just enjoy that Cartman is enjoying a book.

"Kahl."

"What?" Kyle asks, interrupted his reading and looking over at Cartman. Carman has rolled slightly on to his side to face Kyle, but the several feet of fat that surrounds him still lays flat on the mattress. Kyle can only tell that he has shifted to his side by the angle of his thick, round shoulder protruding from where the neck of his shirt had been cut.

"I should do my exercises."

Kyle groans, "can't we skip a day?"

"Why? I'm trying to lose weight," Cartman says. "Don't be an asshole. Why don't you want to help me?"

Cartman's tone is mocking, but it makes Kyle wonder. Why does he have such a problem helping Cartman exercise? It hardly takes any effort from himself; it just makes him a little uncomfortable. He stares at Cartman's face in the middle of the room, lost beneath his inflated cheeks and long hair. Kyle sighs, sets the book down, and rises.

He fetches the rubber band again and hands it Cartman, checking that he has water in his cup before climbing on top of the bed and helping him sit up and wrap the loop around his hands. Cartman has been doing more and more repetitions every time, and Kyle thinks that he can maybe see a difference along Cartman's shoulders in weight. There's just a tone more definition, just a tiny bit more sloping than before.

Cartman's shirt has torn where it was originally cut with scissors, due to his body shifting against the fabric and pulling it past it's limit. It's open to his belly button, several feet of pale flesh showing through. Once again, Kyle's eyes are glued to Cartman's chest as it flexes. He can hear the way Cartman is breathing heavily with the effort of moving his arms and Kyle finds that he's breathing in time with Cartman, keeping his pace, trying to match his determination.

Kyle's eyes slowly slide up Cartman's body to rest of his face, red and damp with sweat. He weakly drops the rubber band and reaches for the water. Kyle intercepts, grabbing it for him and putting it in his hand.

"Thanks."

"So, how hard is that to actually do?"

"Hard. My muscles haven't done anything in months and my arms are fucking heavy."

"Sucks, dude."

There is an awkward silence and Kyle pulls at the neck of his t-shirt.

"Why is it always so warm in here?"

"Because I get cold. I can't sleep with a blanket."

"Why not?"

"I can't move fast enough. There's a chance I could suffocate."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Hey, scratch my leg for me?"

"What?"

"Scratch my leg, I can't reach it. The left one."

"Uh, where?" Kyle asks, staring behind himself on the bed where Cartman's massive trunks of legs rest motionless on the bed, his thin pajama pants bunched around what once were knees. The bedsores on the underside of his legs seem to have spread, scabbing around the edges. The topside of his legs are a scattered, splotchy pink.

"Like my calf."

Kyle's hand hovers over the middle of Cartman's calf.

"No," he says, "about four feet to the left."

Cartman is fat. In fact, his left calf is about the width of Kyle's torso, but there is definitely not four feet of calf to navigate and it takes Kyle a moment to realize Cartman is joking. His eyes dart to Cartman's face, and Cartman seems to be chuckling to himself quietly. Kyle smiles and shakes his head, resting his hand on Cartman's calf and scratching gently.

His leg is firm, the fluid of his body obeying gravity and settling there. It is not soft the way Kyle imagines touching Cartman's chest would be, and he drags his fingernails over the skin gently, afraid of somehow hurting Cartman. Kyle watches his face, and Cartman's eyes seem to slide shut with intense pleasure. A guttural moan floats from Cartman's parted lips and Kyle wonders how long it's been since Cartman has been able to scratch an itch.

The larger boy lies back slowly, his body moving in a rolling wave as he weight crashes back against the mattress. It's an impressive sight. Kyle can't imagine Cartman is comfortable here. Even Kyle, at a seventh of his weight, can feel the jagged scraps of bed frame beneath them. He continues to scratch his calf, moving his hand in a slow circle while he studies Cartman with a deep intrigue.

"Thanks," Cartman finally sighs, his voice soft and gravelly. Kyle slowly removes his hand and climbs off the side of the bed.

"No problem, dude."

The day is Saturday, and Kyle can hardly sit still through Temple. He takes his anxiety out on Ike, poking and prodding him from where he sits beside him. Ike keeps smacking his hand away, as they laugh under their breath. Eventually, Sheila shoots them a death glare and the two brothers keep their hands to themselves.

When he finally gets home, Kyle is a disorganized mess. He throws a pair of green jeans in the wash and pulls a new orange jacket out of his closet. He doesn't want to smell bad. His father and mother are reluctantly letting him borrow a car to drive out to the concert that night so that he and Kenny don't have to take a bus, and he tries desperately to clean it up. By the time Kyle has filled a garbage bag full of paper scraps and empty water bottles, he realizes that time has gotten away from him. It's four p.m. He's supposed to pick Kenny up in an hour.

He bolts upstairs, Ike watching amused from his bedroom as he tears his clothes off and locks himself in the bathroom. He cranks the water on full blast, checking the temperature and not climbing beneath the flow of water until it scalds.

Kyle has always been a frantic thinker, but finds a little peace in the shower, the mundane sound of the water pelting back of his skull helping him to focus on one thought at a time, letting them flow easily, somehow making everything make sense. He tilts his face back into the spray, opening his mouth to breath in the steam.

He can't help wonder about Cartman. How long has it been since Cartman has been able to enjoy the simple pleasure of a shower? His mother gives him sponge baths, most likely a cold, miserable, unsatisfying experience that never really gets him clean. Cartman can't even roll all the way over. No wonder his skin is itchy.

Kyle drags his hands through his hair his sporadic curls falling victim to the heavy water and laying flat against his skull. He drags his hands down his neck, over his collarbone, down his chest. His body is so drastically different from Cartman's it makes Kyle feel tense. His fingers trail lightly over his flat stomach and the light sensation sends chills down his spine. Kyle's thoughts shift to Kenny.

It's been all of Friday and most of Saturday since he's been alone with the other boy, and Kyle is aching for a little tongue action. His favorite after school activity has quickly become lying beneath Kenny on his grungy bed, letting his mouth be invaded by Kenny's tongue and the taste of smoke. They can kiss for hours, stopping only when Kyle doesn't think he can restrain himself anymore. He always leaves before Kenny's hand finds its way beneath his waistband. Maybe soon, but not quiet yet. Kenny is still the only guy Kyle's ever been with, if you can even consider their afterschool make out sessions a relationship.

For now, Kyle can take care of things himself. He drags his hands down the front of his body, sliding down over sharp, protruding hips and shakily over the freckled surface of thin thighs. He turns to face the wall, his hand splaying against the wet tile to support his body as his other hand wraps surely around his stiffening flesh.

He can't help but wonder how long it's been since Cartman could enjoy the simple pleasure of touching himself.

Kyle comes hard and fast, releasing all of the tension from hanging out with Kenny and the frustration from being forced to spend afternoons with Cartman. He finishes the rest of his shower by scrubbing at his hair and body furiously, almost as if to wash off any traces of an orgasm before he spends the night at a concert with Kenny.

Admittedly, Kyle is stoked when he pulls up to Kenny's house at five. He's going to see two of his favorite bands, live in concert. Plus, he's getting out of South Park for a little while and spending time with the current object of his affections. As he sits outside, he gets a text from Stan telling him to have fun, but Kenny climbs into the car and leans over to kiss Kyle's mouth wetly while he tries to type up a reply. He blushes and drives away without responding.

It only takes about twenty minutes to hit the South Park boundaries and as they drive off into the night, the air grows remarkably warm. Kyle shuts off the heat in the car, and both boys slide out of their coats.

They talk lightly about school, video games, how cool it is that the sky is clear enough to see stars. When Kenny brings up Cartman, Kyle navigates away from the subject and Kenny doesn't seem to mind.

"I wonder if Stan is any good at guitar yet," Kyle says.

"He's only had what, five club meetings? I highly doubt he can play much of anything."

Kyle laughs sadly. "Poor guy. I'm surprised my brother is willing to put up with him. By the way, I keep forgetting to ask, but do you want me to pay for my ticket to this show?"

"Nope," Kenny answers. "It's a date."

Kyle smiles at Kenny even though he doesn't understand how Kenny managed to buy tickets to a big concert in a big city. Kenny just smiles back, his hand darting out in an attempt to grab at the crotch of Kyle's jeans. "Hey!" Kyle shouts, elbowing the other boy. "Not allowed!"

Kenny pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'll get you," he declares. "Don't you worry."

It takes them about two hours to get to Denver, and by the time Kyle finds a parking space outside of the amphitheatre, they've only got about thirty minutes until the opening act.

Their seats are high and far away from the stage, but Kyle doesn't mind. They sit down and Kyle's eyes are involuntarily drifting over Kenny's body. His same worn wife beater hugging his chiseled chest and stomach, orange, baggy cargo pants hanging low on his hips. It doesn't look like he's wearing any boxers today. Kyle's mouth feels dry.

"I never would have thought you were gay," Kyle admits. "Or… bisexual."

Kenny just shrugs, smiling back at him in a way that always makes Kyle feel needy. "Everyone's gay, Kyle. Guys get along better with guys anyway. We are fascinated with and touch our own bodies from the day we're born. Of course we'd rather touch one that's similar to our own. Plus, vaginas are pretty gross."

Kyle cringes slightly at the idea of Kenny being in close contact with vaginas. He turns his attention back to the stage and an amplified chord comes ringing through the speakers loudly, the crowd screaming uproariously in anticipation. His heart pounds.

"I'm surprised you like this sort of music," Kenny tells him. "It's sort of angry."

Kyle just shrugs.

The opening act is a band Kyle has never heard of, but they are not bad. He reminds himself to look them up online when he gets home. It is so loud in the amphitheatre that when Kenny wants to tell Kyle something he has to press his lips against Kyle's ear and yell.

"Come with me."

Confused but willing, Kyle lets Kenny drag him out of his seat, their hands tightly clasped, as Kenny nearly jogs down the long, steep flight of stairs. Kyle feels a bit dizzy, but he tries to trust that this isn't a stunt that'll get Kenny killed.

They pass the entrance they used and continue to move down the rows of seats. People seem to be watching them and Kyle feels even more uneasy as a security guard starts to follow them, his face angry. Kenny is jogging and Kyle is stumbling behind him.

Before he knows it, they have descended to the pit of the small stadium. Kyle tries to tell Kenny in between acts that a security guard is probably going to kick them out and Kenny just smiles, taking both of Kyle's hand and dragging their bodies into the pit. Senses Fail is taking the stage, greeting their audience, and Kenny and Kyle are lost within a sea of people.

He clutches to the taller boy, intimidated by the great number of bodies rubbing against his own. People are jumping up and down around him as the first song begins to play. And Kyle yelps when he gets elbowed in the side. He's been to a concert before, but he's never been in a mosh pit, and he finds himself extremely apprehensive.

Suddenly, Kenny's lips are on his ear again and Kyle more feels than hears him telling Kyle to relax. Kenny stands behind him, wrapping his arms around Kyle's body and letting his hands lie on his hips. Kyle releases a shaky breath and leans back into him and the kisses Kenny is placing on the soft skin of his neck. As Kenny moves against him, Kyle finds that he is suddenly not afraid of the crowd.

On the ground level, the music is intense. It shakes Kyle to his core and he can feel the drums in his chest. They jump up and down with the crowd, screaming the lyrics out to every song. He is able to let go, finally unwind entirely from the stresses of day-to-day life and Kenny lifts Kyle's hands above his head and Kyle spins around to kiss him hard. Kenny's hands slide down Kyle's arms, over his chest and down his sides. He lazily wraps them around Kenny's bare shoulders, tugging at his wife beater and pressing his tongue hard against Kenny's teeth. People are still rocking and bouncing around them, but for a few moments, the two boys stand still. Kyle doesn't protest when Kenny's hand slides lower and cups his hardening flesh through his jeans. He moans into his mouth and it is lost in the music.

-

Stan's phone rings Saturday evening and he glances eagerly down at the name. He picks up without saying a word. "Hey," Ike says into the phone, "he's gone."

It takes five minutes by car to get to the Broflovski house. Sheila greets him at the door. She doesn't seem to think it's odd anymore when Stan comes over to see Ike. Kyle hasn't mentioned it, so Stan assumes he's been to busy with Cartman and Kenny to even get the low down from his gossiping mother.

As he walks up the stairs, he sends Kyle a text to tell him to have fun tonight. He and Kyle haven't hung out alone since school started. It feels so strange.

"Who are you texting?"

Stan looks up to see Ike leaning against the wall in the hallway. "Your brother," he answers. "Telling him to enjoy himself with Kenny tonight."

"Are they dating?" Ike asks rather bluntly. Stan just shakes his head.

"I don't really know what they are."

They move into Ike's bedroom and shut the door. Stan sits down on Ike's bed, rather at home in his best friend's little brother's bedroom.

"You look great in that purple," Ike smiles at him.

"Thanks," Stan laughs, toeing out of his sneakers.

The time Stan spends with Ike has drastically changed from guitar practice into just hanging out. Stan is still practicing, and Ike still demands to teach him new things, but much of their time is spent like this, Stan lying back on Ike's bed and Ike sitting on the floor beneath him, playing music to fit the mood.

"What's eighth grade like?" Stan asks, rolling on his side so he can watch him.

"You were in the eighth grade before," Ike tells him.

"Yeah! But a long time ago."

Ike glances over at him, dark eyes taking Stan's breath away. "It's the same shit, trust me. You learn the same shit year, after year, after year."

"You've ruined school for me, you know," Stan teases, smiling down at Ike. "I don't see the point of going anymore. What am I trying to do? Graduate? So I can do what? Get a job so that I can save up for my old age so that I can die without worrying about who pays for my house? The system sucks."

"Now you're talking anarchy, dude," Ike tells him.

Stan shrugs and rolls on to his stomach, staring down at the carpet. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"I like it."

"Play the hard song," Stan requests. Even though he's not looking, he knows Ike is smiling. He listens as Ike tunes the guitar up a half step and starts the song. Stan shuts his eyes and listens to the whole thing. Ike doesn't sing. He refuses to teach Stan the words until Stan can play the song himself. Stan is getting there, but he's still got a little ways to go.

Ike brings the song slowly to its end and Stan lets his leg fall off the side of the bed, intentionally knocking Ike in the head.

"Hey!" Ike shouts, turning around and grabbing Stan's leg, throwing it back on to the mattress. "Not cool!"

Stan rolls on to his side and grins at Ike, who is glaring at him angrily. Ike stands up and thrusts his guitar at Stan. "Asshole. You have to play me a song, now."

Sitting up and frowning, Stan takes Ike's guitar from him. He strums it aimlessly for a second, thinking about the songs he knows well enough to play.

"No laughing if I mess up."

"I'm not going to laugh, Stan."

Stan settles back against the wall and Ike joins him, sitting next to him on the mattress. Stan stalls for a few moments, fidgeting with the tuning even though he knows it's fine already. Finally, he starts to play, probably slower than the song should be played, but he knows no one is judging him but Ike, and she doesn't really mind when Ike does it.

"Do you know the words?" Ike asks him.

Stan nods, too focuses on the hitting the right notes to speak or look over at Ike.

"Sing, then."

"I'm not a good singer," he manages.

"I'm sure you're fine. I want to hear you sing."

Stan blushes, a little nervous and feeling flustered. He stops playing, takes a deep breath, and starts again. His voice comes out quiet at first, but he's proud enough for finding what sounds like the right now. The song moves slowly, the effort of playing and singing at the same time being surprisingly complicated.

"I'll be the grapes fermented, bottled and served with the table set in my finest suit. Like a perfect gentlemen…"

Stan can see Ike nodding out of the corner of his eye and he watches, as Ike is now the one to shut his eyes and listen to the music.

"I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the ancient brick where you will sit and contemplate your day."

Stan is about to warn Ike that he can't really remember the second verse, but Ike starts to sing for him anyway, and Stan is able to follow along. Their voices join together in the room and Stan feels a little bit invincible.

"I'll be the water wings that save you if you start drowning in an open tab when your judgment's on the brink. I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite albums back as your lying there drifting off to sleep. I'll be the platform shoes and undo what heredity's done to you. You won't have to strain to look into my eyes. I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped straight to the throat with the collar up so you won't catch a cold…"

For the first time playing music, Stan feels confident. Ike's guitar in his hands feels like an extension of his body. His voice is leaving his body easily, his head swaying with the rhythm of the song he is creating. Ike is smiling at him softly, and Stan sings to him.

"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town and kiss you on the mouth.  
We'll cut out bodies free from the tethers of this scene, start a brand new colony…"

"Where everything will change. We'll give ourselves new names, identities erased…"

"The sun will hear the grounds under our bare feet in this brand new colony. Everything will change."

Stan slowly lowers the guitar, afraid of ruining the moment but Ike tells him he has a beautiful voice and Stan doesn't feel like _anything_ could ruin the way he feels right now.


	7. Show Me Love

**Well**

**Chapter Seven – Show Me Love**

"Oh, God…"

Kyle clings to Kenny's body as he presses him back against the stall door in the boys' restroom at school. Kenny is ravishing Kyle's neck, marking the pale skin and making the struggle to stay silent horrifically difficult. Kenny's hand crawls down his body, popping open the button his jeans and releasing the pressure on Kyle's erection. He buries his face in Kenny's shoulder and pants harshly as Kenny strokes him surely. Kyle can already feel his legs weaken and shake. His knees could buckle from this kind of pleasure.

Kenny always seems to be laughing, deep, chesty chuckles filling the air while Kyle grabs at him and bites back moans. His hand is pumping steadily on Kyle's dick and Kyle's body is burning beneath his clothing. He never lasts long, especially when they're at school. The added scandal of sneaking away at lunch to grind against each other in the bathroom makes Kyle and Kenny's relationship all the more wicked. It feels like a sin and it turns Kyle on.

Kenny's thumb slides over the weeping head of Kyle's erection and he cries out quietly into Kenny's neck, his hips bucking forward. He is teetering on the edge and as Kenny's hand works a hard, fast pace, Kyle is quickly losing control. A pair of lips closes around his ear, teeth sinking firmly into the flesh, and Kyle is coming. He orgasms hard with a silent scream, collapsing into Kenny's body and desperately trying to catch his breath.

Kyle always feels so good after he comes like this; it's so much better than anything he can do to himself. Red-faced and numb, he starts to laugh sheepishly, smiling up at Kenny and running his shaky hands over Kenny's body. Kyle wants it, and not even the disgusting floor of the public restroom is going to stop him from dropping to his knees and unzipping Kenny's pants.

With a speechless reverence, Kyle slowly untucks Kenny's swollen flesh from his boxers. He wraps both hands around him, stroking aimlessly as he leans forward and presses his mouth against his heated, salty skin. Kenny's fingers lace through his hair, taking a firm hold of him and encouraging Kyle to take him in his mouth. Kyle eagerly complies.

Never could Kyle have imagined how much he would love the feeling of a man's cock in his mouth. It shakes him to his core; it is a hunger that has developed from deep within. Kyle's hands hold Kenny's hips, and Kenny's hands guide Kyle's head as he slowly presses forward, opening his throat and letting Kenny in. He can feel Kenny moaning through his dick and Kyle smiles around his flesh.

He looks up at him while he slowly bobs his head, the look of ecstasy on Kenny's face driving Kyle to rock faster, tighten his throat, and suck harder. He successfully earns another moan from the other boy and Kyle is proud of himself. He pulls back for a moment, wrapping a hand around Kenny's cock and licking down the side of it, nipping at the soft skin around his balls. Kenny's hands tighten in his hair and Kyle drags smiling lips back to the head of his cock, where he sucks greedily, lavishing in the taste of his precome.

"Come on, Kyle," Kenny pleads softly. Kyle likes it when he's able to reduce someone as confident and controlled as Kenny into a beggar. He smirks up at him and takes Kenny's cock into his mouth once more, letting Kenny rock forward and fill his throat. He sits still, loving the feeling of Kenny's flesh pressing against the back of his throat as he fucks his face. His eyes fall shut, groaning happily around his flesh. When Kenny comes explosively into his mouth, Kyle swallows it all.

Climbing slowly to his feet, Kyle leans forward into Kenny's body and sloppily kisses his cheek. Kenny is laughing again, his mouth close to Kyle's ear. When he speaks, his voice is low and poisonous, and the words make Kyle tremble.

"When are you going to let me fuck you?"

Kyle freezes, backing up slowly to look into Kenny's eyes. Kenny suddenly frowns, an affectionate hand resting on his shoulder.

"Whoa, dude, it's okay. There's no rush," Kenny assures him. Kyle nods, trying to relax. It's not that he doesn't want it; he just doesn't know if he's ready. Is Kenny really the guy he wants to give his virginity to? Kyle has been happily sucking Kenny's cock for two months now, but he's still not sure about letting him fuck him.

The bell to signal the end of lunch sounds and Kyle forces himself to stop thinking about this for now. They walk back to class together. Stan is already in his seat. He never asks where they went when they vanish during lunch like this. Kyle wants nothing more to confide in his best friend, and he knows Stan doesn't have a problem with his and Kenny's relationship, it's just that, well, Stan has seemed distant lately.

Mr. Garrison hands Kyle a stack of Cartman's homework that he had graded. Kyle sits down at his desk and flips through it. He is surprised to see some better marks. Things have been steadily improving with Cartman's grades, but the A+ on his _A Separate Peace _essay shocks Kyle. Did Cartman even get A's while he was at school? He slides the work into his Cartman folder for when he goes to his house afterschool today. Kyle feels puzzled by Cartman's grades. Had something he said finally gotten through to the other boy?

-

"You fucking Jew-rat, what are you doing in there?!"

"Taking my coat off!" Kyle screams at the living room from the foyer. "What's your problem?"

"I don't trust you, you sneak."

Sighing, Kyle moves into the living room. Cartman is glaring at him with disgust. The feeling is mutual. Cartman has been doing better on his schoolwork, but he's still a self-absorbed, racist asshole. Kyle must have been wrong earlier- Cartman isn't improving his grades because of something Kyle said, he's just trying to benefit himself. He must have realized after a month and a half of fucking around, that he really did want to graduate after senior year. Kyle takes solace in the fact that Cartman is really helping Kyle in the end, even if he doesn't want to.

"Did you write that historical response?" Kyle asks.

"Yes, it's on my laptop," Cartman says, pointing at the computer on the side of his bed. Kyle moves over to him and sits on the side of the bed, opening the laptop and locating the paper. He e-mails it to himself. He'll print it from home and turn it in for Cartman tomorrow.

Kyle sits cross-legged on the end of Cartman's bed. He got tired of having to walk back and forth between the couch and Cartman's immobile body. He's spent the past few weeks of tutoring on the far side of Cartman's mattress, and Cartman surprisingly has never protested. It's hard to explain the relationship between the two boys. Kyle wouldn't say he enjoys being around Cartman yet, but he's definitely comfortable here.

"So," Kyle begins, "we started a new chapter in math about how to find the solution of two lines. There are a few formulas you have to learn because the test will ask you to solve using a certain method."

Kyle goes over the math work with Cartman, sitting close to him so he can show him examples of the convoluted Cramer's rule. He can hear himself talking, but Kyle is lost in his own thoughts. He can't get Kenny's words at lunch today out of his mind. Kenny wants to fuck him? When did they ever decide that was the way it was going to work anyway? Well, Kyle always assumed he would be the bottom, but is he so much of a fag that that was obvious to Kenny? And if… or… when he lets Kenny fuck him, does that make their relationship more serious? Are they even in a relationship? Kyle wishes Stan were around.

"Hey, Jew, where's your head?"

"Huh?" Kyle asks, looking up from their math homework to focus on Cartman's face.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Uh, nothing."

"No, what were you thinking about? You were like, rambling about math and then trailed off all together and then you were staring at your hands for like, ten minutes."

"Oh, sorry," Kyle sighs, his face red with embarrassment. There's no way he's telling Cartman what he was thinking about.

"Help me sit up," Cartman demands. Kyle sets the book down and reaches for Cartman's hand, pulling his body upright. Kyle is sitting so close to him that the readjustment of his body makes Cartman's stomach brush against Kyle's arm. He jerks away and scoots a couple feet back. Cartman's cut shirt has since torn entirely in half and been discarded. He wears only his pajama pants, his upper body naked.

Kyle can tell by looking at him that Cartman has started to lose weight. It'd probably be hard for an outsider to see, but his shoulders are narrower, and his hands have slimmed down a great deal. It fascinates Kyle to watch the transformation, and he finds himself maybe a little proud of the other boy. Maybe.

Cartman is staring at him darkly, his long brown hair hanging down over his eyes and brushing over his round cheeks. Kyle feels small beneath his gaze and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe, clutching the math book to his chest and trying to scoot away from Cartman on the bed without making it look like he's trying to run.

"W-what?" he manages.

"Dude," Cartman says. "I have to take a piss."

"Okay," Kyle answers, confused. "I'll leave."

"I can't do it by myself," is Cartman's frightening response.

"…what?

Cartman demonstrates the problem, reaching for the front of his pants. Even though he's sitting up, the wide span of his stomach and the thickness of his arms keeps his hands a good two feet away from his waist. Kyle is shaking his head.

"What do you normally do?" Kyle asks, dumfounded, his eyes locked on the unreachable crotch of Cartman's pants.

"Wait for my mom to get home."

Kyle frowns. He body is frozen where he sits on the side of Cartman's bed. He is still shaking his head.

"Dude, come on," Cartman bites, his tone somewhat pleading. "Do you want me to wet the fucking bed?"

"No," he whispers.

"Then get the fucking bed pan, Jew."

Kyle slowly stands, heading over to the table beside Cartman's pillow. Beneath it is a silver bed pan, something that has been there from the beginning but Kyle never really took a moment to realize what it was for. His hand is shaking as he picks it up and he turns to face Cartman again, holding it out for him to take.

"Kahl," Cartman says, staring at him incredulously.

"What!" Kyle shrieks. "What do you want me to do?!"

Cartman doesn't really have to say anything, and so he doesn't. Kyle already knows, and he swallows back the nervous taste of vomit in his mouth and climbs on the bed.

Kyle kneels in between Cartman's thighs. He cannot meet Cartman's gaze as his hands reach forward and rest on Cartman's stomach. His skin is so warm, and Kyle slowly drags his small hands down the soft surface until he reaches the elastic waistband of his pajama pants. His breathing is strangled as he closes weak fists around the fabric and slowly tugs them down.

Lowering Cartman's pants only reveals more of his stomach, sagging low off of his body. Kyle runs a shaky hand beneath the flesh and he gasps sharply when he comes in contact with the hot skin of Cartman's cock. Timidly, he wraps his hand around it and untucks him from his pants.

Kyle stares down at his length, engrossed. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be touching Cartman like this, and it leaves Kyle transfixed. He cannot wrap his fingers all the way around him, and he trails them lightly to the base of his flesh, letting his knuckles graze over the surface of Cartman's large balls. Kyle has had two dicks in his hands in his life, Kenny's and his own. Neither have them have come anywhere near the size and weight of Cartman's. He finds himself tragically enraptured, Kyle's other hand joinning in, running over his skin, passing over the entire length of Cartman's dick before pushing the bedpan beneath him.

He looks away, but his hands stay wrapped around Cartman's cock. He is sorry when Cartman is finished. He resents having to let go of the power and intensity in his hands. Tenderly, he releases him, hands shaking as he regretfully pulls his pajama pants back up. His hands lay flat on Cartman's bare stomach and Kyle finally meets his eyes. Cartman is watching him quietly, his face unreadable, his eyes small and stoic. Kyle pulls his hands away from him slowly.

"I think I need to go home," he whispers.

-

There is a limit for everything, Kyle knows that. He knows there's a limit to just how much he can deal with his mother in a day, how much studying he can really cram into an evening, and how much time he can spend away from Kenny before he has to go to his house and give him an impromptu blowjob on the couch. Kyle just never really understood that there was a limit to his hatred as well. It seems like his abhorrence for Cartman has broken. There are just some things you can't experience without breaking.

The next two weeks with Cartman have been the most pleasant time with the other boy that Kyle has ever experienced. Cartman actually calls Kyle by his name rather than "Jew," "Fag," or "Jew-fag," and for once, Kyle respects Cartman's opinion when they talk about day-to-day things. They often get distracted from their schoolwork, and Kyle will drape his body over the foot of Cartman's bed while they chat.

"I gotta get out of this bed," Cartman groans. "My ass itches."

"I'm not scratching your ass for you," Kyle announces.

"Why the hell not?"

"You would probably crush me."

"This is true. It's an unfortunate life when you can't scratch your own ass."

Kyle laughs.

"Life is short," Cartman continues. "I'd like to lose this weight so I can scratch my ass again before I die."

"You will," Kyle promises. "You've already lost some. I can see it."

"Can you really? I wish I could get on a scale and see how much I weigh."

"Life _is _short," Kyle muses, ignoring Cartman's statement. "Do you think there's any validity in waiting for the 'right person' or should we just go out and fuck whatever comes along while we're still alive?"

"Like Kenny?" Cartman asks.

"Sure," Kyle says, trying to ignore the irony of the statement.

"I don't know," Cartman tells him. "Does the right person even really exist?"

-

The next day Kyle walks home with Kenny, Cartman's words filling his head. He can't help but internalize what he had said. What if the right person doesn't even really exist? Kyle has never seen proof of it. All the adult couples he knows just fight and scream all of the time. Life is short, and you may as well fuck before you die.

It makes even more sense when Kyle looks at it from Kenny's point of view. Kenny fucks anyone that will let him, or at least he used to. Kyle is under the impression Kenny isn't fucking anyone else right now. Does Kyle even care if he is? Once upon a time he felt jealousy, but now all that Kyle feels is a stiffening in his jeans. They enter the abandoned house and Kenny pushes him back against the door, kissing him deeply.

So maybe Kyle is just another thing to fuck until his next death, but Kyle finds that he hardly cares. He's not in love with Kenny; he just likes his cock.

How did Kyle get here in just four months? Kenny is grinding in between his legs and Kyle moans raggedly, hanging on to him. How did Kyle grow so apathetic about his emotions towards Kenny? He doesn't even know what homework he has to do tonight. Kyle feels lost, his mind filled with nothing but Cartman's voice. Kyle wraps his hand around Kenny's cock through his pants and kisses him back, closing his eyes and letting his body take over. When did this turn into just sex?

Maybe it always was, Kyle wonders. Maybe that's all anything is. Kenny's hand is dragging heavily down his chest and Kyle presses his lips against his ear.

"Fuck me."

-

"I want to go to college in California," Kyle tells him.

"What's in California?"

"Stanford."

"Sounds like a pretty white school," Cartman muses. Kyle narrows his eyes.

"I am white?"

"You're Jewish."

"Jews are white."

"Do a lot of Jews go to Stanford?"

"I don't know, why does that matter?"

"Doesn't your mom want you to marry a Jew?"

Kyle laughs, shaking his head. "I don't think she's going to be happy with anything I do, fat-boy."

-

Kyle cries out, his hands fisting tightly into Kenny's long blond hair as he thrusts in between his legs. The filthy feeling of his cock sliding wetly in and out of his body is enough to complete Kyle.

"Fuck. Kenny, harder."

-

"You've got an A in Mr. Garrison's class," Kyle says, smiling, handing Cartman a quarterly progress report.

"I bet you're happy," Cartman says, sitting up in bed by himself.

"Aren't you happy?" Kyle asks sadly.

"It's your grade that you're worried about."

"No," Kyle frowns. "I like being here."

Cartman says nothing, and Kyle sits beside him, leaning his head on Cartman's soft shoulder as he starts to read.

-

"Bend over."

Kyle obliges, leaning forward and resting his hands on the wall. Kenny's cock is pushing slickly into his unstretched ass and Kyle smiles.

"Shit," he swears through clenched teeth. His moans echo off the walls of the school bathroom.

-

Kyle and Cartman are lying down, eyes shut. Kyle would kill for these quiet moments in his life. He drags his fingers slowly through Cartman's uncut hair. He scratches at his scalp and Cartman sighs in response. Kyle opens his eyes slowly, studying Cartman's face in the dim lighting of the living room. Cartman's hand rubs lightly at Kyle's back and Kyle leans into his touch, Cartman's arm wrapped around him, his shoulder a pillow.

Kyle doesn't ask questions anymore.

-

It is the middle of the night when Kyle's phone rings. He's sitting up at his desk, trying to stay caught up on homework, and he answers it without checking the name.

"Sup?"

"I'm horny."

"Then come over and fuck me. I miss your cock," Kyle smirks into the phone, his voice low and sultry. Kenny matches his tone and promises, "I'll be there in ten."

In the hallway, Ike turns and walks back to his room before Kyle realizes he's been overheard.

-

"How are the guys?" Cartman asks loudly. Kyle is in the kitchen, making them both a cup of water.

"I don't really know," Kyle admits, walking back into the living room. He collapses on the bed next to Cartman. Cartman takes the cup from him and drinks before asking, "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't see Stan anymore, and I never know what Kenny is thinking. I haven't seen Stan outside of school in… months."

"What's wrong with Stan?"

"I don't know," Kyle admits. "I just think I've lost him."

-

"Stanley," Ike says.

"Yes, Ikely?"

Ike shakes his head, laughing. "You were staring off into space."

"Sorry, I was thinking about something."

Ike does not ask about what. He picks up his guitar and begins to play. Stan looks around his bedroom. The walls have since been decorated with drawings, mostly done by Ike himself. There are song lyrics. Band posters. The room feels lived in. It feels loved in when Ike is here. Stan thinks about Kyle and Kenny. He hasn't hung out with them at all in the past five months.

"Do you believe in love, Ike?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Some people don't."

"That's stupid," Ike decides simply.

Stan stands up, walking over to his bedroom door and locking it. When he turns around Ike is unfazed, sitting on the ground, playing guitar, and staring back at Stan. Slowly, Stan walks back over to him and kneels on the ground in front of him. He hesitates, his hands clammy and trembling.

"Just do it, Stan," Ike tells him.

With that, Stan leans forward, takes Ike's face in his hands and presses their lips together.

-

"What's that?" Kyle asks, pointing at a pile of cardboard boxes next to Cartman's door.

"My old clothes," Cartman says. "I guess my mom doesn't think I'll have a use for them again."

Kyle frowns, frustrated with Cartman's mother. Doesn't she see how well he's doing? Hasn't she noticed the weight he's dropped? Kyle hops off of his bed and walks over to the boxes. Reaching inside, he pulls out a blue shirt that is about ten times the size he is. Curiosity gets the best of him, and Kyle pulls it on.

"Now you really look like a girl."

"Shut up," Kyle retorts weakly. He unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them, leaving them on the ground. The shirt drapes around his body, hanging past his knees. Kyle walks back to Cartman's bed and crawls in beside him, leaning up against his side.

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping."

"It's Friday night, don't you have plans or something?"

"I'm too tired to go hang out with Kenny."

"If you fall asleep, I swear to God I'm not waking you up so that you can get your sorry ass home."

"Good," Kyle smiles. He tucks himself against Cartman's side. His phone is off, his shirt smells like Cartman, and he has the warmest, softest pillow in the world beneath his head. Kyle shuts his eyes and is asleep in seconds.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

:)

Thanks everyone for all of the insanely nice words about this fic. I'm absolutely loving writing it and I promise there's at least another 20,000 words to come before it's over.

I hope you like this chapter! It was very nerve wracking for me to post it because I'm a little self-conscious about it and its content is very important. Anyway, thank you again for reading and reviewing. 3


	8. Standing in the Way of Control

**Well**

**Chapter Eight – Standing in the Way of Control **

"Butters!"

"Good ole Butters!"

"Our creator!"

"Well, gee, I ain't all you's creators!" Butters laughs, trying to duck beneath affectionate hands that rake over his hair and pat his shoulders. A slap on his back from Dreamfinder leaves him coughing.

"What brings you back again, Butters?" Rapunzel asks him.

"It's just nicer here," Butters says simply, smiling at the princess. "Imaginationland is such a peaceful place."

"Thanks to you," he is reminded. "You're the one that restored us."

"Would you like a ride?" Butters hears from behind him, the booming Scottish voice filling his ears. He turns around to face his dragon friend and Butters shakes his head politely.

"No sir, I'd just like to look at the wall today."

Butters walks across a vast green field, grass swaying in the perfectly warm breeze. He unzips his jacket. Music floats easily through the air and Butters is able to walk a little taller here.

It's a bit of a journey, but he doesn't mind it. The grass is springy beneath his feet and Butters simply appreciates the small colorful flowers that sprout eagerly from the rolling pasture. Whenever he visits Imaginationland, Butter forgets everything about South Park. For once, he is happy.

When he reaches the wall that separates the good imaginary characters from the evil, Butters is flooded with memories of the war he encountered here. So easily he was able to repair all of the damage and pain by simply closing his eyes and dreaming of happiness. Life can be simple, he thinks, if you believe in it.

He runs his hand over the thick brick and can feel the pulsing, dangerous energy through the wall. What keeps them over there, he wonders. There's so much demonisms behind this wall that it must seem measly to them. Just a small step in their way. Butters things of every villain on the other side, breathing heavily, full of rage and confusion.

"Hello."

He nearly has a heart attack when the voice appears beside him. He spins to face him and upon realizing that it isn't an evil creature out to get him, Butters is able to catch his breath and respond.

"Uh, hi!"

"I heard people say you were here. I wanted to see for myself."

"Oh. Well, yes! I am! But I'm sorry, I don't think I know you."

"I'm just some kid's imaginary friend from when he was younger," the stranger says. "No one special. But I've hear stories that you saved Imaginationland during the war, and I just wanted to meet you for myself."

He extends a hand and Butters takes it, shaking it surely. "Well then, hello!" he says happily. No one ever wants to speak to him like this in South Park.

"Hey," his new friend says. "We kind of look alike."

Butters looks the other boy up and down. They do look a little similar. Same blonde hair, same wide smile. Butters eyes are a little closer together though, and he doesn't have such a nice jaw line. He's definitely not as handsome as this guy.

"What's your name?" Butters asks. "What should I call you?"

The stranger shrugs.

"It's up to you."

-

Kyle wakes up on Saturday morning, still pressed against Cartman's warm and soft side. He jolts awake, hardly realizing he had fallen asleep and spend the entire night here. Sitting up in bed, he swings his legs off the side and realizes with sharp embarrassment that he's wearing Cartman's clothes. This had to look weird to Leann when she got home.

He glances over at Cartman and the boy is awake, watching him curiously. Kyle's cheeks are red and he tugging on Cartman's shirt. Suddenly, to his knees doesn't feel long enough.

"Morning, Jew."

"Where's your mom?"

"She's not here."

"She left already? Did she see me sleeping there?"

"Why does it matter? Are we hiding something?"

Kyle freezes, staring intently at Cartman's face. He suddenly feels lost and confused. What does he mean are they hiding something? What are they hiding? What _aren't_ they hiding? Why is Kyle's stomach doing flips?

"Did she see me?" he asks again.

"She never came home."

"What?"

Cartman doesn't repeat himself.

"What do you mean she never came home? Did you call her and tell her I was spending the night or something?"

Cartman just shakes his head, slowly sitting up and stretching his arms before him as he yawns. His nonchalance is unsettling.

"Does she do that often?" Kyle asks, concerned.

He does not answer.

"Cartman, answer me. Does she often not come home?"

"Sometimes," he says, not looking at Kyle. "She always makes it back before I die of starvation."

"Dude."

"I'm kidding. She comes back. She just usually doesn't spend the night here. She comes around the afternoon and feeds me and then goes again."

Kyle is frowning, standing next to the bed and staring at the boy on it sadly. He wants to crawl back in bed, but Cartman is reaching for the television remote and Kyle sighs.

"Well, you hungry? I can make us some breakfast."

"Yes," Cartman smiles up at him. "Be a good housewife and make me some bacon and eggs."

Kyle's stomach flips in his gut again and finds himself smiling broadly back at Cartman.

"No bacon, but I will cook you an egg."

"One?!"

"Yes, fatty."

Cartman groans and Kyle laughs, walking into the kitchen. He actually enjoys himself as he fries an egg for each of them, whistling the tune from _Asses of Fire_. Cartman's old shirt still hangs off his body and it still feels warm with their sleep.

"hurry up, Kahl!"

"Dude, relax! I'm working on it!"

Kyle doesn't mind when Cartman complains anymore. It hasn't bothered him in a long time. For some reason now, his bitching and whining is endearing. Kyle is just glad he's his chosen topic of complaint.

He puts the pan in the sink, makes note of clean it up before Leann comes home, and walks back into the living room with two plates, a single fried egg on each. Admittedly, Kyle could eat more, but Cartman is on a diet, and Kyle should be fair.

He sits down across from Cartman, cross-legged on his bed. He hands a plate to his friend and Cartman scrunches his face up in disgust at the small portion of food. Kyle hands him a fork and smiles sweetly.

"Eat."

His own egg lay untouched. Kyle is a little frustrated with how he's feeling, and he gets lost in his thoughts, the fork falling weakly from his fingers. He is transfixed on Cartman as he eats, staring down at his food like he's in love with it. That's so Cartman that it's cute.

Cartman has been the bane of his existence since preschool. He's not supposed to feel this way about him. He's not supposed to get fluttery and warm when Cartman insults him. Then again, Cartman hasn't insulted Kyle without levity for weeks.

Kyle studies the soft curves of his face, the gently sloping into his jaw, down his neck and to his bare chest. A strong nose anchors his two chocolate, smoldering eyes. His hair hangs to his shoulders, curling gently, waves of light auburn swinging slightly as he eats. Even beneath his weight, Cartman is handsome. Beneath the surface, Cartman's power grips Kyle. His size is incredible, his mass dwarfing the other boy. Kyle always feels so small and shaken around him. Cartman makes him feel vulnerable in a very primal, needy way, and Kyle couldn't get away from it if he wanted to.

On top of that, Kyle cannot forget the way Cartman's cock had felt in his hand. At the time, Kyle was not thinking about sex, but now, as he recalls the weight of the flesh in his palm, all he can do is ache to feel him.

Kyle slowly warps his head around the concept that he's attracted to Cartman. And not just physically. He could be happy lying in this bed with the other boy forever. He feels proud of Cartman when he does well in school, he feels pained for him when he is reminded of his fleshed prison, he feels warm and wanted whenever he gets to touch him. Kyle rests a hand thoughtfully on Cartman's thigh. It goes unquestioned.

When did the physical boundaries blur? When exactly did Kyle feel like it was okay to lean his head on Cartman's shoulder? How the hell did he end up wearing Cartman's shirt like a dress and falling asleep in his bed? He's not supposed to feel this way about Cartman, but then again, Kyle thought the same thing about another friend of his.

"Are you going to eat that?"

Kyle snaps back to reality and looks up at Cartman, who is eyeing his egg hungrily. Kyle laughs sadly and shakes his head, offering the plate to the other boy. Cartman grins and takes it from him. When Kyle first entered this house, it felt like a dungeon, dark and dying with the body of a monster trapped inside. Somehow, it has transformed into a home for Kyle. It's almost like Cartman makes him feel better, even when he didn't know he was upset to begin with.

"What time is it?" Kyle asks vaguely, not really caring, but knowing that he can't stay here all morning. It's Saturday.

"Almost one."

"What?!"

Panic floods Kyle's system, and he bolts from the bed, trotting into the foyer where he left his jeans on the floor. He digs his cell phone from his pocket. It's been off since last night and when he turns it on he sees that it's fucking twelve fifty, and he has twenty-two missed calls.

His phone is ringing as he stares down at it and it takes Kyle a moment to answer.

"Hello?" he answers sheepishly.

"KYLE BROFLOVSKI WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN DOYOUEVENKNOWWHATTIMEITIS."

Kyle sighs, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. The mother-induced headache is already beginning.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I fell asleep at Cartman's. I just lost track of time."

"YOU MISSED TEMPLE," she screeches into the phone. Kyle winces, pulling the phone away from his ear slightly. Cartman seems to be laughing from his bead. He can hear them from the foyer.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Well, when are you going to be home? Have you done your homework?"

"I did my homework."

"When are you going to be home?"

"I don't know, Mom," he groans. Kyle hangs up, surprised at his own defiance.

He walks back into the living room, his jeans thrown lazily over his shoulder. Cartman is watching him silently and Kyle wants to crawl back in bed, but his phone rings again. Apathetically, he glances down at it. It's not his mother; it's Kenny. Kyle hesitates for a moment, but finally answers before the fourth ring ends.

"Hi."

"Hey, dude. You out of Temple yet?"

"Uh, yeah. Just got out."

"Wanna come over?"

Kyle can't really say no. He blew off Kenny the night before. He just… doesn't want to see him. He'd much rather stay here with Cartman.

"Come on, I wanna fuck you."

Fuck.

"Yeah, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Where are you going?"

"Kenny's. He… said he wanted to show me something," Kyle lies. Cartman's face goes dark.

"At least clean up the kitchen before you leave, you greedy Jew."

Cartman's tone is full of irritation and Kyle feels heartbroken as he shuffles into the kitchen to wash the pan and their plates. He works slowly, trying to stall leaving Cartman's house as long as possible, but it doesn't seem like Cartman much wants him here anyway. He does not change back into his own clothes until just before he leaves the house.

Kenny lives four houses down and now that he is away from Cartman, he is suddenly walking quickly to reach Kenny's house. Kyle slowly shuts down, leaving his thoughts and desires at Cartman's front step and shedding his jacket before he's even inside Kenny's house.

He is immediately in Kenny's arms, being kissed deeply and Kyle presses into him, his dick already stiffening due to the friction of Kenny's erection grinding against his hips.

"I missed you," Kenny tells him.

Kyle pushes him back towards the couch, his hands splayed flat on his stomach and Kenny smirks down at him.

"Eager, are we?"

He bites Kenny's neck, eliciting a ragged moan from the boy that Kyle knows means Kenny is ready. They don't need to fool around today. Kyle's hands to Kenny's pants and he tears them open, pushing them down his hips to expose his tenting boxers. He pulls Kenny's cock out and then moves his hands to his own pants, pushing his jeans just below his ass.

Kyle kneels on the couch, his hands gripping the back of the couch his body supported on his elbows. His ass is presented for Kenny, pale and peeking from his dark jeans. There are no words in between Kenny staring and Kenny fucking him.

He cries out, burying his face into the cushions on the couch, pressing his ass back against the hard cock ramming into him. Kyle gasps, biting his lip and trying to stay silent. When Kenny leans over his back and tries to kiss him over his shoulder, Kyle turns his head away.

"You're so hot."

Kyle slides a hand down his stomach, gripping his own erection in his hand and fisting himself as Kenny slams into him from behind. Kyle closes his eyes and lets himself fall victim to the raw pleasure of touching himself in combination with feeling so full inside. Before long, Kyle is trembling, his body burning with the intense feeling of losing control. He crumbles when he comes, his body clenching around Kenny and forcing the other boy to orgasm as well.

"Shit, Kyle. That was intense."

Kyle shifts out from beneath Kenny, wincing as he feels the other boy's release slide wetly from his ass. He nods weakly, giving Kenny an empty kiss on the jaw before pulling his jeans up and fastening them.

"My mom wants me home."

-

Kyle unlocks Cartman's door, his hands shaky and his ass sore. A pain he usually finds pleasure in is just irritating right now. He walks inside and earns no greeting. He was only gone for maybe thirty minutes. There's no way Cartman has fallen asleep. He abandons his coat at the front door and walks into the living room. Cartman refuses to make eye contact.

"What's your problem?"

No answer.

"Don't be a douche."

Silence.

"It's not like I wanted to leave either, Cartman."

With that, Cartman's scowl softens and he glances back over at Kyle.

"I came back."

Cartman sits up in bed. "Are you staying?" he asks.

"I can," Kyle smiles.

Kyle sits beside Cartman in bed and they watch mindless television for a long time. Cartman never asks for any details about what Kyle did at Kenny's house and Kyle is thankful. He left that part of himself at Kenny's. Here, things are peaceful.

Driven by a wordless desire to be held by him, Kyle turns away from the television and into Cartman's body, tender fingers rubbing at his scalp. When he catches in the tangles of Cartman's unkempt hair, he gently picks them apart, not wanting to hurt the other boy. Cartman pretends to be watching the show, but Kyle can feel his eyes on his face. When Kyle breathes, his stomach expands just enough to brush against Cartman's.

"Dude," he says. "You need some conditioner."

"I know, but it's not like washing my hair is terrible easy for my mother. We usually shampoo and call it quits."

"Do you want me to do it?"

"I warned you it's not easy."

"You're a little more mobile now," Kyle smiles at him. "We can figure it out."

Cartman explains that there is a shampoo downstairs, but Kyle will have to journey into his mother's bathroom upstairs to find conditioner. When he is up there, Kyle also grabs several towels and a comb. His arms are full and his teeth are showing as he descends the staircase. Cartman is eyeing him skeptically. Kyle dumps his supplies on the floor next to the bed.

"Scoot to the edge of the bed," he demands.

"What?"

"Scoot to the edge. I want your head hanging off."

"I can't."

"Yes you can, you big baby," Kyle laughs, moving into the kitchen.

He finds a large soup pot and heaves it into the sink, filling it with scalding water. No one likes a cold shower, and by the time he gets around to pouring it on Cartman's head, it's going to have cooled some. He grabs a plastic cup off the counter and throws it in the pot as well, slowly carrying it back to the living room, careful to not slosh the water or drop the heavy pan.

Cartman is hanging his head off the top edge of his mattress, staring at Kyle with mild contempt as he sets the pot of water beneath his head. "This hurts my neck."

"I'll hold your head up," Kyle promises.

Kyle does so, supporting Cartman's head with one hand while the other dips the cup into the water and lifts it to his scalp, slowly pouring the water over his hair and letting it rain back down into the pan.

"Ow! That's fucking hot, you piece of shit Jew!"

"Oops," Kyle pouts. He stares down at the steaming pot of water for a second before grabbing the cup and darting back into the kitchen. He fills the cup with ice three times and drops the cubes into the pan. Cartman is sniggering at him, but when Kyle pours the water over his hair again, he doesn't complain about the heat.

Kyle shampoos twice, scratching at Cartman's scalp and making sure he gets all of his long hair lathered thoroughly. Cartman's eyes are closed, enjoying the massaging on his head and the warmth of the water. Kyle watches his face, adoring and longing.

He tries not to think about Kenny, but his boxers are a little damp in his jeans and he can't help but regret letting himself fall for Cartman like this. Things would be simpler if he still hated Cartman. Things could be simpler if Kyle liked Kenny for more than his dick. Things happen so quickly, and before you even realized you were thinking about something, you've entirely changed your mind.

He rinses his hair, being careful not to pour water down his face, and making sure the suds are falling into the pot beneath them. His hair already feels cleaner. Kyle continues to support Cartman's head, not just because he wants him to be comfortable, but he worries about the other boy's neck strength. He squeezes a healthy amount of conditioner on to his hair and slowly drags his fingers through the wet locks. They detangle easily, smooth as silk and Cartman sighs, content.

When Kyle pours the final cup of water over his head to rinse him clean, Cartman's hair is tangle free, soft and smooth. Kyle wraps a towel around his head and commands him to sit up, following his body and kneeling on the bed behind him so he can dry his hair. He rubs the towel over his head, squeezing excess water out of his hair before reaching for the comb he snatched from Leann's bathroom. Cartman sits quietly and watches TV, letting Kyle comb his hair out for the whole half hour that Family Guy is on.

-

"I have a stupid question," Stan announces from his desk. Ike looks up at him from where he's laying on his bed.

"Shoot."

"How come when people say, 'you have to live a little,' they're usually referring to something that will kill them? Like, getting drunk every night. Their defense is that they _gotta live a little_, or smoking meth, or fucking hookers, or driving one hundred twenty on the freeway. Why is that considered living?"

"Because it is."

"You can't tell me you think all that shit is cool, Ike," Stan frowns at him, concerned.

"That's not what I said!" the younger boy defends. "I'm saying, what is living if not dying slowly? Couldn't it mean you're living more if you're trying to die faster?"

Stan is silent, uncertain.

"I have a question, then," Ike announces.

"Shoot."

"When did death become synonymous with happiness?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever someone gets a new video game they're all, 'Ohhh, my God, I'm so happy I could _die!_'"

Stan laughs at Ike's impression of an excited teenager, however shaking his head. "I guess that's true. Weird."

They sit in silence for a few moments, and when Stan speaks suddenly, it's more to himself than anyone else in the room.

"Everyone wants to die happy."

"Come kiss me."

Stan rises, moving over to the bed and collapsing next to the other boy. He leans over him, sliding an arm beneath Ike's back and holding him surely, admiring his simple beauty. Ike's hands grip to the fabric of Stan's shirt and they kiss, quiet, soft and determined.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

I've had a couple people tell me now that this is the best SP fic they've ever read, and while I believe that you either are very silly or have not read enough fic, I'm extremely thankful that you guys are enjoying this as much as I am. Leave me reviews, send me PMs, I love talking! And recommend this fic to your friends!

I'll continue to update as fast as I can! Thank you again :)


	9. Run, Don't Walk

**Well**

**Chapter Nine – Run, Don't Walk **

"When's the last time you had sex?"

"What?"

Ike turns around and looks at Stan from where he's sitting at Stan's desk. "When is the last time you had sex?" he repeats himself.

"Uh… a couple months ago," Stan answers, shifting uncomfortably where he's sitting on the bed. He sets his guitar down. "Before Wendy and I broke up."

"Were you in love with her?"

Stan doesn't like talking about Wendy with anyone, but he finds that talking about her with Ike is another level of discomfort. He feels a little sick to his stomach as he shakes his head.

"No."

"Did you think you were?"

"I don't really think so. I think I was in love with the stability. The normalcy. Dating her was easy."

"So why'd you break up with her? Weren't you guys together for like, years?"

"Yes and I don't know. One day she pissed me off and I just broke up with her. I wasn't as happy as I thought I was."

"Is it because you're gay?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I'm gay. I think maybe everyone is kind of gay. I think it has a lot to do with how society is portraying itself."

"Are you happy now?"

"Yes."

"Did you like sex?"

"I mean, sex feels good. Yeah."

Ike nods, turning back towards back towards Stan's computer, clicking around the internet aimlessly.

"Why are you asking?" Stan asks softly.

"I was just wondering if you thought you should be in love before having sex."

"I don't regret Wendy," Stan tells him. "I'm just not in love with her. However, her friends have been determined this year to make my life hell."

"Why is that?"

"They think I broke her heart. I know Wendy better than that. She's full of indifference towards love. She's fine."

"What do you mean?"

"She's all girl power and female strength and she's not going to let a break up control her. She's moving on just fine. Boys love harder than girls anyway."

Stan watches as Ike turns around again, their eyes meeting. Ike reaches up and nervously touches the black hair that falls sloppily over his eyebrows. He is so handsome. Ike casts his black eyes down at the floor, suddenly very interested in Stan's backpack lying on the carpet. Rarely does Stan see Ike display something other than assurance and confidence and it makes Stan worry.

"Dude, you okay?"

Ike nods and Stan watches as he stands, walking towards him. Whenever Ike gets closer, Stan's heart starts to pound, and it's no different now as Ike sheepishly straddles his lap and kisses him lightly. Stan's hands fall to his sides, holding on to him as he slowly opens his mouth against Ike's.

Ike pulls back after a moment and Stan admires his smooth, easy face, his hands still on the smaller boy's sides, feeling him breathe.

"Can we have sex?" he whispers.

"What?" Stan asks breathlessly. Why is it that he's always asking Ike to repeat himself?

"I want to have sex with you."

"You're too young," Stan tells him.

Ike glares at him, kissing him again. Stan finds hands on his chest, pushing him backwards on the mattress. He lies down reluctantly beneath Ike and Stan's head is spinning. There are so many reasons he shouldn't do this right now, but the one prevailing thought is that there is also a reason that he should.

"Is my door locked?"

"Yes."

Stan sits up, forcing Ike back into his lap. He wraps his arms around the younger boy and scoots back on to the bed so he can lay Ike down in the correct direction and crawl on top of him. Ike suddenly feels very small in his arms and Stan just wants to protect him.

Ike's hands are on Stan's neck, light and gentle and Stan's lay firmly on his sides. He drags his palms up his sides surely, the fabric of his t-shirt getting caught and bunching up as he does so. He can see the taunting pale skin of his stomach and Stan releases a shaky sigh. He's done this before, he's done this before.

"This is your virginity," he reminds Ike.

"Life is too short to be unhappy."

Ike pulls him into a kiss and Stan just stops worrying. He slides a hand slowly beneath Ike's shirt, touching the bare, smooth skin of the other's chest, something he's never before been able to touch on Ike. He pushes the material up to his collarbone and Ike pulls back enough to tug the shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Hands then fall to Stan's t-shirt, and Ike is pulling it over his head, leaving both of them bare.

Stan stares down at Ike's mesmerized and Ike stares back up at him with a matched reverence. Both of their hands wander over each other's skin with purpose, mapping out the flat spans of their chests and the ribs that rub at the surface from inside. He kisses Ike and when Ike kisses back so eagerly, his hands flat on Stan's chest, Stan finds his blood heading south.

He straddles the younger boy, sliding his lips tenderly down his chin and along his jaw. When he kisses Ike's neck, the boy gasps, arms sliding around to embrace Stan's shoulders. He kisses a quiet path of kisses down Ike's neck, over his chest, down to his stomach and beneath his belly button. Ike's body is writhing beneath him, overwhelmed with the sensation of lips where he's never felt them before. Stan sits up slowly, smiling up at Ike's red face, mouth open as he breathes quickly.

Stan slowly opens Ike's jeans, peeling them down his legs and discarded them to the floor with his shirt. He wants this. The younger boy watches him, half aroused and in his underwear, and Stan crawls back to his face to give him comforting kiss.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Ike nods, his body involuntarily trembling beneath Stan's.

"You have to take your pants off too," he demands.

"I'm going to!" Stan laughs, and Ike smiles up at him, hands sliding down his stomach to the edge of Stan's jeans. He climbs off of the bed, stepping out of his jeans on to the floor and opens his beside table. He can feel Ike watching him curiously, and Stan sets a condom and a bottle of lube on the bed beside Ike's head. It doesn't scare Ike as much as he expects it to. Ike's confidence drives Stan forward. He longs to feel something again. He yearns to feel the boy that has awakened him to the world and forced him to start the process of truly understanding himself. Stan looks at Ike waiting on the bed. Everything about him is beautiful. His body, his mind, his music. When Stan is with him, things are better.

"Stan."

"Sorry," Stan smiles at him, crawling back on the bed. Ike sits up and kisses him and Stan is intoxicated by the other boy, consumed by him. Ike's hand slides down his stomach and fleetingly over the elastic waistband of his underwear. Stan breaks the kiss and watches as Ike pulls it down, wrapping his guitar calloused fingers around his hardened flesh.

"Ike..."

-

"Butters?! Butters, make sure you do your homework!"

"I don't have any!" he calls out.

Butters jogs upstairs, trying to get into his bedroom before his parents require his attention. He drops his backpack on the floor, locks the door and moves immediately towards his closet. School is worse than ever, his friends are as indifferent as always, and his parents are constantly cruel. He closes himself into the darkness and collapses to the floor.

He shuts his eyes and hums until he feels the familiar warm fog surround him, carrying him away from South Park. When he lands in Imaginationland, Butters is able to truly smile. He is able to enjoy himself here. He is able to trust people here.

Butters stands and moves into the town, blushing as he once again gets invitations to eat dinner, or ride unicorns, or is asked to sign his autograph. He obliges meekly, signing papers and politely turning down invitations. His nameless friend approaches him from around the corner of a building and Butters smiles at him. He seems to always know Butters is coming before he's here.

"Butters, I was wondering when you'd be back!"

"I was here yesterday!" he giggles.

"Well I have something I want to show you," he announces, turning around and walking back through the town. Butters follows him eagerly.

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise!"

"Oh, tell me!"

"You're going to see in a few minutes!" his friend chuckles, turning around to look at him.

"Come on!" Butters pleads, but his friend does not answer this time. Butters follows him silently.

-

Kyle unlocks the front door and walks into Cartman's house. As he strips himself of his outerwear in the foyer, Cartman is already calling his name.

"Kahl! Kaaahl! Look what I can do!"

He moves eagerly into the living room and finds Cartman smiling at him from his bed in the center. Kyle feels the familiar surge of affection for Cartman flood him once more.

"What can you do?" Kyle asks, smiling back at him.

Cartman holds a finger in the air, signaling Kyle to shut up and watch and so he does, crossing his arms over his chest and watching. Cartman takes a deep breath and swings his right arm to the left side of his body, giving himself the benefit of motion as he attempts to roll. He grunts and swears under his breath, but Cartman successfully rolls on to his stomach in a matter of seconds, something he had no hope of doing at the beginning of the school year. Kyle is so proud of him he could cry, but bites back the foolish tears, knowing he will only be teased, and instead rushes happily to Cartman's side.

"Now I can scratch your ass for you," Kyle jokes and Cartman laughs.

"I can at least get some bed-sore relief," he says, sighing gratefully. Kyle reaches up and aimlessly rubs his shoulder, letting his eyes trail down to Cartman's legs.

His bedsores were something that Kyle had developed a discriminating knowledge for. He knew they were there, but he couldn't see much of them and he ignored their presence. Now that he's on his stomach, Kyle can see the blood that has stained the underside of his grey pajama pants. Finding himself shaky and ill, Kyle's hands pull up the leg of his pants on one calf and Kyle gasps.

The bottom of his calf and thigh is a never healing wound. The flesh has scabbed over, ripped open and scabbed again. There is almost no spot on Cartman's leg that appears to be normal skin. Everything is raw and oozing. It looks so painful that Kyle finds his toes curling uncomfortably in his shoes. He can't imagine having to lay six hundred pounds of weight on top of an open wound. There was never a way for the wound to heal.

The tears he had pushed back before come rushing forth, not out of pride for the other boy, but out of pity. He cries and sits down by Cartman's feet, holding one of his feet in his hand as he stares at the bloody and festering bedsore. Tears spill unbidden down his cheeks and he gasps wetly through them. It just looks like he should be dying.

"Oh, Eric…"

Cartman doesn't say anything for the few minutes that Kyle lets himself sit there, stare and cry for him. Eventually, he stands and tenderly lifts Cartman's other pant leg. The other leg is just as bad and Kyle wipes futilely at the tears on his face.

"Stay like this," he demands. "I'm going to go get something for you."

He is back in half an hour. He was able to stop his tears in public, but he knows his eyes are still puffy and red and his throat feels thick and tight. He dumps out the plastic bag of things he bought at the drug store on to the end of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Eric asks softly.

"This could get infected and _kill _you," Kyle says. "I went and got some stuff to clean it out."

"The Jew spent his money?"

Kyle is thankful for the joke, but laughing starts his tears again. He tugs on Eric's pants and pulls them off of his body, careful not to brush against any of his wounds.

"What are you doing!"

"You've been wearing these pants for too long. They're filthy and covered in blood."

"You just want to look at my ass, pervert!"

"Totally," Kyle winks at him."And I'll bring you a sheet to cover up with so you're not cold and naked, but these are going into the wash."

The tears have not stopped, and they run silently down his cheeks as he slowly dabs rubbing alcohol over the entirety of Eric's bedsores on his legs and the part of his lower back that can't find relief from sitting up. He hisses and groans, but there are no major complaints.

"I'm going to make it stop hurting in a second," Kyle promises him.

It takes three tubes of pain relief antibiotic ointment to cover all of him, but Eric lies there patiently while Kyle works. When Kyle is finished, Eric looks tired, his head resting on his folded arms and his eyelids hanging heavily over slitted eyes.

"Sleepy?"

"I haven't had any pain-free sleep in a long time," he admits.

Kyle drags a sad hand through his hair. "I'll go get you a blanket."

"Linen closet is in the laundry room," he yawns.

Kyle finds the laundry room connected to the kitchen, and he starts a load with Eric's pants in it. He adds extra soap and some bleach to kill any infection living in the filthy fabric. He finds a light quilt in the cabinet over the washer and it looks like it's going to be big enough to cover Eric's body. He throws it over his shoulder and heads back to the living room.

"Okay, here," Kyle tells him.

There is no response.

"Cartman? Eric?"

He walks around to the other side of him so he can see Eric's face, and the boy is sound asleep, snoring lightly. Kyle laughs softly and spreads the quilt over his body, glad to see him at peace.

-

When Butters returns home, he steps out of his closet to hear his mother and father calling him to dinner. He walks downstairs slowly and sees them waiting there.

"What have you been doing all this time in your room?"

"Homework."

"You said you didn't have any."

Butters freezes for a moment, then shrugs and pushes back his parents to get to the dinner table.

-

Stan and Ike lay tangled in each other for a long time, their sticky, bare skin hot and pressed together. Stan kisses him and Ike smiles against his lips, tucking his body into Stan's chest.

"Play me a song."

Stan laughs affectionately and rolls out of bed. He fetches his boxers from the floor and pulls them on, reaching for his guitar while Ike pulls back the covers to Stan's bed and slides beneath the sheets naked.

He taps the hollow shell of the guitar's body for a while, debating what to play for Ike. It takes him a moment to decide, but he remembers something and tunes the guitar into the correct key, swinging his head as he picks the intro. Ike hasn't played this song for him in a long time. He left him the tabs and Stan has been practicing it in his own time. He's glad he can show Ike now that he can play it successfully.

"Oh," Ike smiles at him. "Do you want to know the lyrics?"

"Yes!" Stan grins.

"Okay, start the song over and repeat the verse after me."

Stan does so, turning sideways on the bed so he can watch the boy tucked beneath his blanket as he sings out into the room.

"While the world's asleep in the crimson flush, staring down the barrel of a gun, the one I love, he's up with a silent crush, on everything under the sun. A child of roses, a pocket full of poses, he stands up to the call to attention. He pins up his petals on the row of scarecrows, and everything under the sun…"

Stan repeats him, but his voice will never be as beautiful as Ike's. He finishes the verse and moves into the next on his guitar, eager to hear Ike sing more.

"Why would he drag faith along, raking the shade indoors? 'Cause in that shadow, winter might leave him alone with everything under the sun..."

Ike's eyes fall shut and Stan wants to kiss him again. He is warm, content, satisfied, and he sings back to him. When Ike catches on to the chorus, Stan wonders if he did Ike an injustice by taking his virginity today, but by the way the younger is smiling and the way Stan feels inside, he can't imagine they committed too much of a crime. No one would understand, Stan knows that, but life is unpredictable, and there is no one he has to answer to other than himself. He plays guitar, and sings after Ike, and knows that there can't be anything wrong with something that makes sense in such a confusing world.

When they finish the song, Ike sits up and kisses Stan and Stan melts into him. You don't have to be in love to hang sex with someone, Stan thinks, but it sure makes it better.

* * *

**Author's Notes **

I'm SO sorry for the delay, but I haven't been writing at my normal chapter-a-day pace because I went out of town and spent four wonderful days with my lover in New York City. I'm back home though, and I promise to be rushing forth with updates. :)

Updates are going to be much shorter now that we approach the climax and falling action of the fic. I hope you don't mind! I promise to move this quickly. Thank you for reading!


	10. Sunflowers

**Well**

**Chapter Ten – Sunflowers**

It's three o'clock on Thursday and Kyle winces when Kenny's hand creeps along his lower back. He shifts away from it, gathering his things and staring down at the floor.

"Look, Kenny, I'm not feeling so well."

"I can make you feel better."

Kyle looks up at him. His dazzling blue eyes only irritate Kyle now. Sex sounds great, but it also requires faking an affection Kyle no longer has, and he doesn't think he has the energy for that today.

"I need to go home and rest, I think. See you later, Ken."

Like a snake, Kenny's hand darts out and grips Kyle's wrist, holding him still. Kyle gasps, trying to pull back.

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" Kenny asks darkly. "You've been acting strange lately."

"School's just been piling up, and I'm tired from having to spend so much time with Cartman. I'm just tired."

Kenny's pulls Kyle towards him slowly and Kyle is scared of his flickering eyes and set mouth. His hood casts dark shadows into the sunken pools of Kenny's eyes and makes him seem distant and at the same time, unfortunately too near. He feels fearful of Kenny, suddenly- the way he once feared Eric. Kenny seems volatile and harsh, two things Kyle never expected out of the other boy.

"Are you okay?" Kyle whispers.

By the time Kenny lets go of him and walks away, Kyle realizes numbly that the classroom is empty. How long had Kenny been holding him there? He feels shaky, but quickly gathers his things and heads home. He really just needs to lie down.

South Park is darker than normal today. The sun always sets early in this perpetual winter, but it's only four and Kyle finds that it almost looks like night outside. The chill is piercing, ripping through his jacket and invading his body. He glances around the dark street as he hurries home. The streetlights are off, not knowing they're needed. Kyle feels uncertain and paranoid. Had the sun even risen this morning?

His backpack hangs apathetically off one shoulder as he walks down the hallway. The quiet few hours between school ending and his parents getting off work were something that Kyle hadn't been able to enjoy since the beginning of the year, but Kyle still finds himself yearning to be with Eric right now. He isn't expected to show up at the Cartman residence on Thursdays, but he doesn't think Eric would mind. He wonders if Leann is home.

A once familiar laughter floats through the hallway and Kyle pauses just before he steps into his room. He glances at the source of the noise, where Ike's door is hanging open. Kyle lets his backpack fall silently to the ground and he slowly moves towards the doorway.

The light is on in Ike's room, casting a bar of illumination into the otherwise dark hallway and Kyle stands in it, watching as Stan, his once best friend, lays his little brother back on the bed. They are smiling and laughing as Ike reaches up and pulls Stan into a messy kiss. Kyle is only able to turn away when Stan's hands slide beneath Ike's shirt.

Stepping back into the darkness, Kyle falls silently back against the wall. He feels dizzy and sick to his stomach and his body is trembling. He feels like he's been deceived and mislead. Kyle leaves his backpack on the ground and bolts from his home.

"Mom?"

Kyle shuts the door behind him and pulls off his coat in the darkness of Eric's foyer.

"No, it's me."

"Kahl?"

Kyle turns the lights on. Obviously, Leann isn't home. She never is. Kyle feels to a degree that he may be Eric's only caretaker at this point, but he hardly cares. He likes that no one else enters this peaceful world of theirs. Eric rolls on to his back and sits up when he sees him, looking puzzled.

"What are you doing here?"

Kyle shakes his head, words not coming to him. He kicks off his shoes and crawls on top of the bed. He lies down next to Eric and Eric lies down as well, rolling on to his side so he can look at Kyle. Kyle rolls to face him, their faces close, eyes locked. They are a well-oiled, fluid machine.

Real, raw need is something Kyle has rarely felt in his life. There are the primal needs, like eating, drinking and sleeping, and there are the developed needs, like the need to do well in school, and the need to be fucked. But for some reason, none of those things have ever felt as urgent or as grating in his soul as what he had just seen.

"I can trust you, right?"

Eric stares blankly back at him, but his silence is reassuring. It is shocking realization to think that Eric seems to be the only one he _can _trust now. His handsome face is comforting, warm brown eyes wrapping Kyle in a warmth that could melt away even the coldest South Park snow.

"I saw something that kind of upset me."

"What, did Kenny die?"

"No," Kyle sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment. He feels Eric's heavy hand fall to his cheek and he opens his eyes, feeling encouraged to speak. "I went home and heard laughter from Ike's bedroom, and when I looked in, Stan was there."

"Was he waiting for you or something?"

"Not really, no."

"They were just hanging out?"

"They were kissing."

"Huh," Eric says, sounding thoughtful. Kyle groans.

"They looked _really _happy."

"Are you upset because it was your best friend and your little brother?"

"I guess I feel jealous."

"Of them kissing or of them being happy?"

Kyle shrugs, his eyes falling shut again. This bed is so comfortable; the other boy is so warm. There is peace and safety inside this house and it almost feels like alternate reality for Kyle. Eric's house is a place he can escape to, a place he can trust, and understand, and love. They lie together for a very long time in silence before Kyle speaks without opening his eyes.

"Eric, I'm gay."

"Everyone's gay, Kahl."

Kyle laughs then, opening his eyes and looking affectionately up at the larger man, admiring his handsome face before him.

"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?"

"Because it's true," Eric says solemnly.

Kyle reaches up and touches the soft skin of his cheek and Eric is the one to close his eyes this time. He seems to be appreciating the feeling of Kyle's fingers as they trail down his neck and to his chest. Kyle watches his face as he sighs contently.

_Everyone's gay. _

Nervous but needy, Kyle leans forward and kisses an unexpecting Eric. The other boy gasps weakly, but does not pull away. Kyle feels Eric's arm tightening around his back and Kyle's hands lie flat on his broad chest as he holds their soft lips together, still, secure and perfect.

In all the darkness and cold of Kyle's world, with all it's rough, unforgiving concrete and empty, starless skies, here he has found warmth and a promise that there is something more. As Eric kisses him, Kyle is promised that there is something else. _Somewhere _else.

Slowly, Kyle pulls back so he can look at him again. He is breathless, his heart is pounding, and his body is full of an electricity he has never felt before. Kissing has never been like this with Kenny. The moment is quiet and reassuring. Eric is watching him softly and Kyle starts to laugh, burrowing into his soft chest and holding on to him.

"What's so funny, Jew?" he asks softly.

"You're Eric Cartman and I kissed you and I liked it."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"That felt better than anyone else I've kissed."

"Who else have you kissed?" Eric asks.

"Don't laugh," Kyle says, looking up at him. "But I am kind of sort of dating Kenny, I guess."

Eric's face is blank and he says quietly, "why would I laugh at that?"

Kyle feels confused. Eric isn't laughing, but it doesn't seem to be because he is understanding and accepting. He does not look happy at all to have heard the news about Kyle and Kenny's relationship. Kyle wants to explain that it's not love, that it's not even affection, that it's an emotionless agreement for sex, but before Kyle knows it, he's being pushed on to the floor by heavy arms, and he picks himself off of the ground in shock. His throat tight and his body shaking, he opens his mouth to speak, but Eric beats him to it.

"Leave."

Kyle turns on his heels and runs from Eric's house, fighting back tears and the sharp, piercing pain of rejection. How many heartaches must he suffer in one afternoon?

He runs home, his chest contracting tightly as he sprints through the cold, dead air. He knows with resentment that he is running towards part of the reason he's so upset.

Bursting through the door, Kyle runs upstairs. Intentionally, he passes his room, and heads for Ike, where he finds himself ragefully pushing open the ajar door to find Stan and Ike in nothing but their boxers, post-pleasure and smiling as the snuggle on the bed. Kyle has never been so angry to see joy.

"Kyle!" Stan shouts in surprise, his hands crossing over his stomach as if he is attempting to cover his nudity. They both jump to their feet, moths open in shock.

"I fucking hate you," Kyle tells him.

Their eyes are locked, and Stan looks horrified beneath Kyle's heated stare.

"Look, dude—"

"No," Kyle interrupts him. "Why the fuck are you here? What the fuck did you do to my brother?"

_What the fuck did he do to you?_

"Kyle, come on," Ike tries, trying to mediate the situation and move in between Stan and Kyle's bodies.

"No!" he shouts again, taking heavy steps towards Stan, his frustration over Kenny and Cartman and his empty life comes rushing forth. He shoves Ike to the side and Ike looks incredulous at the physical contact. "So, you're a fag now?"

"Like you're not!" Stan retorts immediately, but a moment later he seems to regret it, frowning and taking a step back.

"Dude, we know you've been fucking Kenny," Ike tells him. Kyle stares blankly for a moment before wheeling back on Stan.

"You told him I was fucking Kenny?!"

"I didn't even know that, Kyle! You haven't spoken to me in months! How am I supposed to feel when you stop talking to me out of the blue?"

"It's not like you talk to me either!" Kyle groans. "You've been weird since that first fucking day of school and when you joined goddamn guitar club! You had to go and start hanging out with my little brother and telling him things that are none of his fucking business."

"He didn't have to tell me anything!" Ike bites back. "I've heard you on the phone with him at night! I hear you talk about his cock, and beg him to fuck you."

Kyle feels the threat of tears burning again. He's fully dressed, but before the two bare bodied boys, he feels oddly naked. He runs his hands shakily down his stomach, feeling queasy and uncertain.

"You're both such fucking pieces of shit," Kyle spits. "I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"Why are you so angry at us?" Ike asks quietly. Stan sits down on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands.

"You're not supposed to be together. You're my best friend and my little brother!"

"You've hardly been either of those things to us! You haven't spoken to either of us in months. I fucking _live_ with you and I never see you. Whenever we're forced in the same room together, you're off somewhere else in your mind. Kyle, can you even remember a family dinner we've had lately?"

Kyle wants to lunge forward and hit his little brother, but Ike is right and he restrains himself. He seethes in place, staring him down.

"Kyle," Ike growls, "why do you seem to think I don't understand what you're going through?"

"Because you don't!"

"We're all pawns in this fucked up game of life-"

"I hate you."

"-we're all trapped in this Hell-hole that people think is a _quiet_ mountain town. We all need ways to escape, Kyle."

"I don't need to go anywhere. You're the one doing all of this to me!"

"I get it. Stan gets it. Kenny gets it."

"Kenny doesn't get it," Kyle mumbles, shaking his head.

"I'm sure Cartman is looking for it."

"You don't know anything, Ike. You don't know what you're doing. You're not allowed to do this."

"Stan is my warmth, Kyle. Stan is my first summer in all my years in South Park."

"You're too young. You don't know what you're doing."

"You're mad at us for being happy, Kyle, because you're fucked up and _unhappy_. I've been watching you lose control. You're my brother, and I love you, and I want you to be happy, but you're not going to find happiness by sucking Kenny's cock and making out with Eric Cartman."

Stan's head snaps up and he stares at Kyle. Kyle face burns red. There's no way Ike could have known he kissed Eric today, and yet, Ike somehow knows exactly how he feels. He feels frustrated and trapped, and Kyle screams the first thing that comes to mind.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE STAN."

Stan stands up, anger flashing through his blue eyes.

"Fuck you, Kyle. You can't have everyone."

"Where you have been when I needed you?" Kyle asks him quietly.

Stan shakes his head, reaching for his jeans and getting dressed.

"Where were you when I was falling in love?"

Kyle watches as he leaves the room and when he turns back around to face his little brother, Ike is getting dressed as well, running after the other boy in concern. Kyle realizes with a dull throbbing in his head that he hardly even knows those two boys anymore. He hardly knows himself. Slowly, he turns around, his body numbing and his chest tight. Kyle walks four steps down his hallway and locks himself in his bedroom. There is nothing else to do.

**Author's Notes**

Sorry for the delay. Life caught up with me, I guess. Finals, and work were totally overwhelming. BUT HERE WAS chapter ten. Eleven will be up sometime next week, as most of my projects are wrapped up by Friday, and I'm just itching to finish this fic! :D


	11. Liar It Takes Two

**Well**

**Chapter Eleven – Liar (It Takes Two) **

The next day at school, Kenny ignores Kyle, Kyle ignores Stan, and Butters is nowhere to be found. Everyone seems to dwell in silence, the snow falls loudly, and as soon as the bell rings, Kyle proceeds to Eric's house after school with an intentional, determined ignorance.

But not much longer after his key is in the door, Eric is screaming. Kyle tries to push the door open against the downpour of racial slurs and homosexual reproaches. Telling himself everything will be okay if he can just explain, he makes it shakily into the living room, but Eric is sitting up on the bed, his face red, shouting in his direction.

"Get the fuck out of my house, you piece of shit kike. I never want to see your ugly ginger faggot face again. I hate you."

The sight is horrifying, Eric's massive body leaning forward, pulsing with hatred. His mouth is open wide as he roars, his fists banging as hard as they can on the edge of the bed. Kyle's heart pounds in fear. He obviously is not going to listen to a thing Kyle has to say, and Kyle's stomach twists with the urge to vomit as he turns around and runs from the Cartman residence.

He doesn't make it much farther than the sidewalk before he needs to sit down. The snow on the ground immediately soaks through his jeans, but Eric has left him feeling so cold, the water feels warm and is welcome.

Kyle stares down at his feet, and even though he's curled up, his knees against his chest, his sneakers look miles away. This is what dying must feel like, Kyle thinks. This inability to breathe, the distance of his body from his mind. His chest feels like it's bleeding, ripped into two parts, one oozing here on the sidewalk, the other crawling quietly on to Eric's bed.

Eric gets in bad moods, even on their best of days. The words "piece of shit kike" had been used before, but Kyle at least knew that he didn't mean it. Maybe that's been the difference all of these years with Eric- you can say something, and you can mean something, and until you mean something, you'll never actually feel it.

Irritation, sure. Exhaustion, absolutely. But never once has Kyle ever said the words "I hate you" and meant it. And neither has Eric, for Kyle has never felt the gravity of truly being hated until today.

What hurts even more is the careful wall Kyle had built against Eric's brashness had been disassembled brick by brick these past few months. Kyle was entirely undefended against his attack.

But maybe what hurts the most is the fact that Kyle really started to like Eric. He cared so much for him, he fought so hard for him. And that kiss made Kyle feel like he was flying. Eric was able take him away from this fucking freezing white-trash town with nothing more than a kiss.

Everything Kyle was for the past several months has been Eric. Eric's homework, Eric's health, Eric's house. Stan has fallen off the face of the planet, temple has been put on the backburner, Kenny became nothing more than a good fuck. Eric was who made him smile. Eric was who made him genuinely happy. Maybe Kyle even loved him.

Whether or not Kyle loves Eric, he knows one thing for sure- there is someone that he _does _hate. He stares down at his cell phone as it rings, Kenny's name flashing across the screen in a way that makes Kyle's blood boil. The pain of Eric's rejection is placed with the thick, crawling, seething desire to blame. This is all Kenny's fault; Eric's anger, Stan's distance, Ike's disapproval, Kyle's emptiness. Everything is Kenny's fault.

"What?" he answers sharply.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"I was at Cartman's. Where else would I be on a Friday?"

"You've been fucking avoiding me all week. What the fuck is your problem, bitch?"

"You're the one who ignored me today."

"You didn't make an effort."

"I've been stressed."

"You've been with Cartman."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Please, Kyle. You spend all of your free time with that lazy, fat-ass."

"Don't call him that."

"Don't defend him."

Kyle's hand fists hard into his hair and he pulls, trying to distract himself from Kenny's grating voice with his self-induced pain. He wishes he could go back inside Eric's house, and hide in his warm bed, kiss his guiding lips, but he knows the only thing waiting for him behind that door is a monster.

"Where are you _right now?_" Kenny demands.

"I just left Cartman's."

"Come over."

"No."

"I'm not giving you an option."

The campus of South Park High is emptied, the cold wind whipping through its abandoned concrete field and wrapping its frigid fingers around the necks of the only two students willing to hang around after the bell on a Friday afternoon.

"I'm not happy," Stan tells him.

"I know."

Stan stares down at Ike. Their hair is victim to the winds, but they don't feel the chill. The younger boy is stoic, much as he always is. Stan frowns.

"I feel like we've fucked everything up."

"Why do you say that, dude? We haven't done anything."

"We hurt Kyle."

"He hurt himself."

Stan sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the side of the school. Subtly, Ike joins him and leans into his side.

"It's not our fault," Ike promises, "that Kyle got into an emotionless relationship to fill the void he feels inside. That is his issue to deal with. As for his thing with Cartman, who the fuck knows. I don't think Kyle even knows what he's feeling for either of those boys. He's mothering one and fucking another. His heart is all over the place, and I'm not sure he had much of a heart for loving to begin with."

"I just wish I knew why he felt that… void in the first place."

"It's just how he grew up."

"I feel like South Park is dying."

At this, Ike laughs, and Stan glares at him. He's upset, and Ike isn't taking him seriously. Beneath his sad eyes, Ike's laughter fades.

"Stan," he says reassuringly. "South Park was never alive. Come on, let's get out of here."

They walk to Stan's car and climb inside, as he starts the ignition and swings a wide U through the empty parking lot, Ike asks him, "how come Kenny and Kyle never mentioned anything when you stopped taking the bus with them?"

"They didn't notice," he answers bitterly.

As they cruise down the one road that leaves the commercial part of South Park and enters the residential, the boys are both quiet. The stereo remains off, as Ike never leans forward to turn it on and Stan feels it a crime to do it himself. If Ike wants silence, they will have silence.

When Ike commands, "turn right," Stan practically jumps out of his skin.

"Why? That's the road out of South Park."

"Exactly," the younger boy smiles at him. Stan slows to a stop, his eyes locked on Ike's face. Whenever that boy smiled, it melted him right down to his toes. His stomach flutters happily and he shrugs, turning right and driving away from South Park.

"How much gas do you have?"

"A full tank."

"Cool," Ike tells him. "Let's go to Denver."

Stan doesn't question Ike. He never has, and he's never questioned the way he's felt with the other boy. Ike has only brought him joy and salvation. Ike holds his hand and Stan turns right.

Butters sits at his desk, in the same chair he's been in all day. He hasn't moved since he told his mother that he was too sick to go to school. His parents grounded him, not that it's going to change anything.

He drags a pencil over the pages of a notebook, filled with drawings and notes. He doubles over a right angle, darkening the corner.

Suddenly, he drops the pencil, his hands grasping his skull in pain. He swears under his breath and collapses against his desk. There is a screaming in his brain, so loud it deafens him to the world around him.

"Shut. The fuck. Up," he says, his teeth grinding hard together. "I will kill you. I don't have time for this."

The screaming ceases and Butters is able to sit up again. He grabs his pencil and resumes his planning.

Kyle picks himself off of the ground where he had broken down outside of Eric's house. His jeans are entirely soaked through, his body trembling as it protests the freezing temperature. The last thing he wants is to see Kenny, but at least his house will be warmer than outside, even if only a tiny bit.

The door is pulled open before Kyle has a chance to knock. Kenny was probably watching him the entire time he waddled his wet ass down the street. Cartman only lives four houses away.

Kenny is on him before Kyle can register that they're still technically dating. His tongue is pushing its way harshly into Kyle's mouth and Kyle cries out beneath him, struggling against Kenny and the door he finds behind his back. He is trapped.

There is a hand around his throat and Kyle's struggles cease. Obviously, he has to go along with this if he wants any access to oxygen. When Kenny pulls away, Kyle stares at him heatedly, and dark blue eyes stare back.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Kenny asks.

"Nothing!" he shouts, taking advantage of the opportunity to break out of his captivity. He moves further into the living room, keeping distance from the man in orange. "What's yours, dude?"

"You don't want to kiss me. You don't want to hang out with me. You don't want to suck me off in the bathroom at school, and I at least expected _that _much out of you."

"I just haven't felt well," Kyle admits. Kenny's face seems to soften and Kyle feels comfortable enough to sit down to sit down on his couch. Unfortunately, his feelings of discomfort return when Kenny moves to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and rubbing his arm. Involuntarily, he jerks away from Kenny and Kenny stands again, glaring down at him.

"Look," Kyle groans. "Maybe we should… break up for a little while. If we were even like, dating to begin with. I just need to figure some shit out."

The request seems simple enough, and despite his behavior lately, Kyle always assumed Kenny was a pretty level-headed guy, and so he hardly expects the result of his recourse. For the second time in an hour, Kyle finds himself being screamed at.

"Fuck you, dude! I only ever fucking did this for you!"

This time, Kyle stands and screams back.

"What the fuck do you mean you did this for me? You were the one trying to get in my pants from day one! You're a slut!"

"Please, Kyle. I don't think I'm the slut here. You'd do anything for a cock in your ass—"

"Fuck you!"

"—including letting your straight friend fuck you in the bathroom at school."

Kyle grinds his teeth together, glaring up at Kenny, his hands fisting at his sides. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm not gay, Kyle. I took you to that concert because I knew you weren't feeling happy and I knew I could give you a good time. I've stuck it out for so long because I was worried your faggot ass would cry if I broke up with you."

"LIAR!" Kyle screams, his voice strained. "That's bullshit! You're the one calling me all of the time!"

"I did this all for you Kyle, because Stan and I knew you were lonely."

"What the fuck does Stan have to do with this?"

"I told him my plan back in September. He said it was a good idea. That you needed someone."

"Liar."

"Ask him."

That seems to hurt the most.

"Why the fuck are you so mad then if I want to stop this shit?! Why do you give a rat's ass whether or not I want to fuck you anymore?"

"Because you're an ungrateful piece of shit, Kyle," Kenny answers, moving towards him slowly, his voice low and dangerous. Kyle shakes. He's never seen Kenny like this before. He never knew he had so much darkness within him.

"I'm ungrateful because you're not supposed to fuck your friend just because they're gay and you're worried they're not going to find anyone! I found someone just fine," Kyle spits at him, "but I ruined it because I had this bullshit relationship to deal with. I wish you were still fucking DEAD."

At that, Kenny turns around and walks away, exiting the house through the front door and leaving it open.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?" Kyle screams.

When he gets no response, Kyle runs after him, and finds Kenny in his front yard, digging through the piles of junk and trash until he comes up with a long, thin rope. Kyle watches in disbelief as Kenny fashions a makeshift noose and fastens it around his neck, winking and smirking in Kyle's direction.

"Kenny, please."

"Come on, Kyle. You want to go get your someone. You just told me you wanted me dead. Do you, or don't you?"

There is a long silence as Kenny stands before Kyle, swinging the excess rope in his hands and watching him. The sun starts to set, and the first bright star breaks through the dimming sky. Kenny tosses the end of his rope that is not secured around his neck over a high, sturdy branch of the pine tree in his front yard. He tugs on it until the rope is taught, pulling at the back of his neck. Kenny stands up on his tiptoes, gazing back at Kyle expectantly.

"I do."

Kenny jumps, reeling in extra rope with his hands, shortening the rope and pulling his feet away from the ground. By the time gravity takes over, Kenny's neck is taking his weight. Kyle watches on in fascination as he hangs himself.

The rope around his neck snaps, too thin to truly hold his weight, but Kenny's head is already sideways on his shoulder as he comes crashing to the ground. He lands folded over himself, bones crunching and breaking through his skin.

Kyle approaches him slowly. Kenny's blue eyes stare up at him, dull and empty, but still very much alive. His neck is broken, his legs are shattered. Kyle can hear Kenny's strangled breathing gurgle through the blood filling his lungs. He glances around the neighborhood. Kenny's suicide has gone unnoticed.

The word suicide troubles Kyle, however. He finds that he cannot leave the scene without covering Kenny's dying body with the rubble and debris scattered in his front yard.

The sky has gone completely black and Kyle turns and runs.

They stand hand in hand on a ridge just outside of Denver, the lights of the massive city beneath them burning intensely in the night.

"Do you want to keep driving?" Ike asks.

"No," Stan answers. "This is fine."

Just being out of South Park is enough for him. He has never felt so free before. They sit down on the soft, warm ground. The air is still, hot and a little sticky, and as Stan unzips his jacket and lets it fall to the ground, Ike leans forward and kisses him.

There's something different about kissing Ike outside of one of their bedrooms. There isn't a single place they could go in South Park to kiss where someone wouldn't be able to catch a glimpse of them, but here, the only thing that disturbs their quiet kissing is the occasional pair of headlights from cars on the adjacent highway, and Stan doesn't mind. He finds that outside of South Park, he is neither scared, nor ashamed.

Stan is dazzled by the dancing lights beneath them. He thinks of the people in all of those houses and buildings, laughing, loving, hating, dying. Even dying in Denver seems more appealing than living in South Park.

Ike leans back between Stan's legs and plays his guitar. Stan's arms encircle his chest loosely, giving him room as the quietly lifts chords from the instrument. He plays softly, but the music seems to drown out the sound of the cars behind them anyway.

"The Atlantic was born today and I'll tell you how. The clouds above opened up and let it out."

Stan's hands slide slowly down Ike's stomach, and then lightly over his thighs. His eyes fall shut as he touches his lover's body through his clothes.

"I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere when the water filled every hole and thousands upon thousands made an ocean, making islands where no island should go. Oh no."

Stan kisses Ike's neck, his lips grazing over his favorite soft skin, his tongue enjoying the familiar sweet taste of the other.

"Those people were overjoyed; they took to their boats. I thought it less like a lake and more like a moat. The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door have been silenced forever more. The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. It seems farther than ever before"

He cannot help but wonder how he got here. A year ago, he would have never guessed he'd be tangled in his best friend's little brother, wanting nothing more to make love to him on the side of the freeway. Sometimes, he feels like life in South Park is a little melodramatic. Kyle just had a bad relationship; Stan just had an empty heart. Why is everyone acting like it's the end of the world? Denver is sparkling beneath them. The world is such a beautiful place.

"Oh no."

Then again, there is something to the fact that happiness has always been rare in South Park. Over the years, it has been tragedy after tragedy, lawsuit after serial murder after natural disaster. South Park is stuck in an endless cycle of destruction and damned rebirth, ignorant to the functions of the rest of society. Stan is wasting his time. He's already lost too much of his life to Wendy, and school, and trying to fit in. He could die tomorrow, and what will he have to say about his life then? God forbid his name be called, Stan wouldn't be ready to die.

"I need you so much closer. I need you so much closer."

Stan drags an affectionate hand through Ike's hair, letting it card away from him slowly and with reverence. He kisses his ear and Ike leans into him.

There are no stars in the sky above Denver. Stan thinks about asking Ike why, but he doesn't want to interrupt the music just to ask another question caused by his sheltered upbringing in a more than secluded mountain town. South Park isn't just secluded, Stan muses. It's been rejected by the rest of Colorado, where the ground can be soft, the cities can glow, and the snow can cease.

"I need you so much closer."


	12. Reinventing Your Exit

**Well**

**Chapter Twelve – Reinventing Your Exit**

Kyle wants to run home. His stares ahead as he sprints, but he can't seem to focus on the sidewalk through the night and the snow. It is hard to breathe through his tears and his legs are weak and shaky. Only after four houses, the ground suddenly is closer than anything else and Kyle knows he's not going to make it home. He does the only thing that makes sense to him right now- unlock Eric's door.

There is no screaming this time. Eric is silent as Kyle shuts the door. He strips out of his hat and coat and gloves, his hands shaking and his chest heaving. He is sure Eric can hear him sobbing from the foyer, and his lack of response drives Kyle forward.

He isn't sure why exactly he is so upset. He's seen Kenny die thousands of times before, but watching the life slowly ebb from the other boy brought forth all of the regret and frustration Kyle had been feeling. He needs to be here right now.

Stepping into the living room, Kyle finds Eric staring at him blankly, and Kyle clasps a hand over his mouth as a loud sob erupts from within him. Eric has never looked so warm and welcoming, despite the expression of frigid uncertainty on his face. He walks towards him, and does not ask permission as he climbs on Eric's bed.

Kyle crawls on top of him, straddling one of his thick thighs and collapsing into his stomach. Eric does not move and Kyle's hands grab at him, desperate for a response. He leans forward and kisses him, his mouth against Eric's as he cries to him, "I need you."

Eric pulls back sharply and Kyle stares up at him nervously.

"Mom," he says. "Leave."

Kyle hadn't noticed Leann standing in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at them. He watches as she eagerly vacates the house. The door shuts and it is a long moment before Kyle braves facing Eric again, still in his lap, his hands on his chest.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"What's wrong with you?" Eric asks him.

"I told Kenny I wanted to break up with him and he said some weird shit and then he killed himself and I'm just upset that I was with him in the first place because he isn't who I want," spills out of his mouth all in one breath. His hands twitch against Eric's chest.

Eric's jaw sets, and Kyle regrets mentioning Kenny again, fearing the same reaction as the first time. But Eric does not push him off the bed. Instead, his soft hands come up to Kyle's waist to hold him gently. Kyle leans forward to kiss him again.

They kiss quietly for a few minutes, and Kyle's tears all but stop entirely. His hands slide up Eric's chest to tangle into his long, wavy hair, their mouths moving together slowly and carefully. Kyle is filled with the same feeling of fireworks and ecstasy that he experienced last time he and Eric kissed.

Kyle pulls back, longing to see Eric's face. He is still nervous that Eric is mad at him, but the soft, chocolate eyes that meet his own are comforting.

"Why was your mom here?" he braves asking.

"I called her. Told her that you weren't going to be stopping by anymore and she needed to come take care of me."

"Oh."

Eric's fingers rub soothingly over Kyle's sides and Kyle leans forward into him, hiding his face in his neck and wrapping his arms around Eric's neck, cradling his head in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"I am too," Eric says. The apology rocks Kyle. He hadn't expected it- he hadn't even wanted it, but shakes him and he clings to Eric, grateful.

"I feel like everything is so fucked up," he admits. "But it feels safe here."

But Eric does not respond. He just one arm around Kyle's lower back and holds him against his body as he rolls to the side. Kyle falls back against the mattress, Eric's arm large and supportive behind him. When Eric kisses him again, Kyle gasps. Everything about the kiss is different this time. Eric is huge against him, leaning over him, his finger grazing over Kyle's lower back. His mouth is open, his breath hot and welcoming, and when their tongues touch together, Kyle feels his body awaken.

Eric senses the change in the other boy and pulls him a little closer, forcing their stomach together and Kyle's body responds chills. He wraps his hands in Eric's hair once more and presses into his mouth, kissing him deeper, longing for more.

Eric's other hand rests on Kyle's chest, his thumb rubbing light circles over his t-shirt. Arousal is suddenly pulsing through Kyle's body and he isn't sure what to do with it, but Eric is kissing him deeply, and letting his fingers drift over his nipples and Kyle isn't as scared as he thinks he should be.

The sheer size of the other body against his makes Kyle feel vulnerable, and he likes feeling small for Eric. He breaks the kiss to look up at Eric's handsome face, and the other boy is staring down at him affectionately. Eric smiles a little and drags his fingers over the waistband of Kyle's jeans. Kyle finds himself breathing shallowly and pressing back into the contact.

Kyle's eyes fall shut as Eric touches him through his jeans, his heavy fingers trailing down Kyle's ass and tracing the swell of his cheeks. Kyle's thighs are twitching and his pants are quickly tightening with arousal. The hand on his chest slips beneath his shirt and Eric's soft fingers on his skin sends shockwaves down his spine.

"Eric…" he whimpers.

His resulting grin dazzles Kyle and that smugness Eric is so famous for makes Kyle dizzy. That smirk, his massive hands, the way his fingers are slowly unzipping his jeans—

"Oh God…"

"Easy, Jew," he chuckles deeply.

Eric's hand slides down the back of Kyle's jeans, beneath his boxers, his warm palm cupping the curve of his ass, still cold from sitting in the snow. The contrast in temperature makes Kyle moan softly and he pushes back firmly into Eric's hand.

"Come on," Kyle pants.

"What!"

"Just... please."

"Please what, Kahl?"

"F-finger me."

Eric's hand shifts lower in Kyle's boxers and then stops, his arm tight against his back. He whimpers; Kyle is being teased.

"I can't reach."

"What?" Kyle asks, pouting.

"I can't reach! My arm is too big."

Kyle laughs breathlessly, shaking his head. "Fatty."

"Aye!"

Kyle pulls away from Eric enough to sit up. He pushes his jeans down below his hips, and Eric seems to be watching, mesmerized as Kyle exposes himself to the other man. He stares hungrily down at Eric and Eric licks his lips.

He straddles Eric's arm, his thick bicep between his legs makes Kyle moan. His arms cradle Eric's head once more and Kyle kisses him as he grinds his erection down into Eric's arm.

Eric's hand has better access to his ass and Kyle breaks the kiss to gasp loudly as Eric's fingers drift down the line of his parted cheeks and over his entrance. Kyle licks his palm and reaches behind himself, spreading his saliva over Eric's dry fingers. Instantly, the other boy is pushing inside of him.

Kyle cries out, a loud, needy whimpering that spills from his lips as Eric presses a single, wide finger inside of him. Kyle presses back on his hand, and as he forces Eric's finger deeper inside of him, his dick slides firmly against Eric's arm. The pleasure is overwhelming and Kyle smiles.

He rocks for a few moments, whimpering like a child every time he presses back and Eric jerks his wrist to drive his finger forward.

"Holy shit. More."

Eric happily complies, and Kyle pulls hard at his hair as two fingers spread him wide open. He finally lets himself moan loudly, but the sound is captured by Eric's lips and the moan is lost in the warmth of his mouth.

Is it not long before Kyle is nearing the intoxicating edge of climax. Eric is thrusting two fingers deeply inside of him, filling him as he rides his arm firmly. The friction on his erection, Eric inside of him, the lips that occasionally graze his as he pants and moans, all send Kyle rocketing towards a release he needs.

"Fuck. Fuck."

He is coming, his face buried in Eric's neck and his mouth open in a silent scream as he releases hard between their bodies and clenches around Eric's hand. Slowly, Eric withdraws from him, and Kyle slides back into the space in between Eric's arm and his stomach.

"Is the Mole here?"

"Oui. Un moment, please. Christophe!!!"

A moment later, Christophe appears at the door, a cigarette hanging between his lips. He lights it as soon as he steps outside.

"What ze fuck do you vant?"

"I need a map of all of the underground passages in South Park. Do you have a map of the sewers and electrical lines? I will make this worth your while."

Christophe seems to study Butters for a long time. Butters stares at him at him blankly as Christophe takes deep drags of his cigarette, his hands clutched around a notebook has has been making plans in. Finally, Christophe seems to have weighed the pros and cons of helping Butters and he nods, dropping the stoke to the ground and putting it out beneath his boot.

"Come in."

Butters smiles to himself as he shuts the door behind them.

Stan doesn't even know what time it is. They have been sitting on the side of the Interstate Seventy in what feels like a blissful dream, apart from the real world. They are frozen in time, immune to age and pain. Stan cannot even imagine having to return home.

Ike is laying back in the dirt, bare-chested, his shirt having been discarded when Stan couldn't do anymore innocent touching and had to fully appreciate him. The moonlight casts down on light bruises that Stan has left on Ike's neck. The frequency of passing cars starts to slow.

The guitar had been laying off to the side, quiet and unused, and so Stan reaches for it. As he begins to play, Ike smiles up at him, resting a hand on Stan's thigh and tugging at the fly of his jeans where they remain unzipped from the passionate moments before.

"Sing," Ike requests, even though he knows Stan isn't fond of singing. Stan knows that Ike knows he will always sing for him regardless. Soon, they will have to lift themselves from the ground and climb back into Stan's car, start the two-hour journey back into Park County. Reality sounds so unappealing, that Stan would rather stay grounded here forever, and so he sings.

"Only interested in the sad music of the voice of Williamine. She makes men sigh and women wonder. Where does all the beauty come from, and why?

Nobody ever dares to write the true story of love, hiding under buried junkyards throughout the world. With her sad abstract letters she talks with a broken heart.

We're gonna get married and fly away. Roam the Genghis Khan clouds. Anybody who's never done this is crazy

Nobody ever dares to write the true story of love, the secret underground truth of desire. Never mentioned in the newspapers, the men of night admits the groaning godlike love.

We're gonna get married and fly away. Roam the Genghis Khan clouds. And someday we're gonna get married and fly away. Roam the Genghis Khan clouds. Anybody who's never done this is crazy."


	13. Another White Dash

**Well**

**Chapter Thirteen – Another White Dash**

Stan and Ike do not make it back to South Park until very early on Saturday morning. The sun is cresting over the mountains in the East just as Stan leans in for one more kiss and Ike is jogging away from his car and back to his front door. Stan hesitates before driving off, wondering vaguely if Kyle is inside, and how he's doing.

"Home safe," he texts Ike as he quietly climbs out of his car and shuts the door as softly as possible. The wind whips across his cheeks and darkens them, but he does not feel it. He sneaks into the house as if his parents would be angered by his vanishing act, but everyone is soundly asleep, and he knows that most likely, they didn't notice that he never came home the night before.

"Good. I'm going to bed. You should too. Text me when you wake up. Love you."

"Love you too," he replies.

Stan lays his phone on the bedside table softly and strips down to his boxers. His bed is so soft and inviting, but without Ike here, it always feels unfortunately cold. He frowns as he lays down and pulls the covers up to his chin. He had a beautiful time last night and being back in South Park is the last thing he wants. Ike has been right all along. They are wasting their life here. They are dying slow and miserable with their repetitive, pointless routines. They've got to get out of here. Stan reaches for his phone.

"Let's run away," he texts Ike. The message is convoluted. It could be a joke, or it could be serious. He waits for Ike's interpretation.

"Okay," is the sleepy answer he gets in return. He sets his phone aside, telling himself that he needs to let his young lover get some rest. An okay is enough for now. Stan settles back against his pillow, yawning. He dreams of Denver, Colorado, and San Francisco, California, and of being anywhere but here. His body heat warms the comforter as he drifts closer to sleep, and Stan is able to feel Ike in bed with him as he falls away from consciousness.

When Kyle wakes up on Saturday morning, he finds himself tucked into Eric's side, his pants still open and his ass out. He must have fallen asleep rather quickly after he came. He pouts a little and sits up, looking for Eric's face behind his mountain of chest.

"Morning, Jewshine."

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Fourteen hours."

"What the fuck!" Kyle groans, collapsing back in between Eric's arm and his body.

"You were tired," Eric says softly. "You fell asleep right after we fucked and that was that."

"I'm sorry," Kyle sighs, rubbing his eyes. He hasn't slept much at all in the past few days. Things had been keeping him up at night, so he's not surprised. He just feels bad.

"For what?"

"You didn't even get off. That was selfish. I fell asleep."

"I got off," Eric says simply. "I haven't come in months. I didn't really need... much of anything."

Kyle slowly rises to look at his face again. He's slightly flattered that Eric feels comfortable enough with him to admit to his early arrival, but mostly, he can't help but find the fact hilarious. He laughs hard, his eyes becoming dangerously wet. He doesn't want to cry at Eric's expense, but his laughter is choking him, coming out silent and strained, and his eyes respond, pooling as his laughter continues.

It seems to take Eric a minute to realize Kyle is laughing at him, but when it dawns, he isn't too pleased about it.

"Aye! Asshole!"

And then Kyle is on the floor, having been pushed off the bed by the angry hippo he was sharing it with, but Kyle is still laughing. He takes a few moments to catch his breath, but eventually calms down. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he manages, crawling to his knees and peeking his head over the side of the mattress.

Eric is staring back at him, unconvinced, his face carved into his famous scowl. Kyle smiles at him sweetly.

"What do you want for breakfast? I can make us some cereal."

"Cereal is fine," Eric says evenly.

Kyle stands, a little put off that Eric is going to be so grumpy about this. He pulls his jeans off and lets them lay useless on the floor. He's not going anywhere. He'd rather walk around in his boxers. He sets off towards the kitchen.

"Hey, wait, come here."

Kyle turns around, and Eric is sitting up on the bed, beckoning him with a single finger. He hesitantly walks towards him, unsure of what he wants or what slap across the face might be waiting for him. Eric extends his hand and as soon as Kyle is close enough, it is wrapped around his neck.

He freezes for a moment, but Eric is simply drawing him closer, and when Kyle falls into a warm, comforting kiss, he realizes there is nothing to fear anymore.

When Stan wakes up, it hasn't been long enough, but he knows he can't sleep through his entire Saturday. The sun is high in the sky, grey light pouring in through his window and his phone tells him it's already three in the afternoon. The first thing he does is text Ike.

"Are you awake?"

His phone rings a minute later.

"Hi."

"Were you serious about running away?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Ike tells him. Stan can hear and feel him smiling. "When do you want to leave?"

"I don't know, whenever you want," Stan says quietly, sitting up in bed and looking out his window into residential South Park. The snow is thick, the streets are abandoned and the neighborhood is shockingly empty for a Saturday. It seems like no one wants to be outside in this suffocating town.

"Tonight?"

The word is like a drum in Stan's heart. He feels his blood racing in response to the rhythm.

"Okay."

"I swear to God, kike, if you fuck this up…"

"Don't call me that," Kyle admonishes quietly, pulling away from him. "I can deal with the others but that's cruel."

Eric says nothing in response to that, and Kyle takes it as a good sign, moving the scissors back towards Eric's brown mane of hair. They're finally chopping this shit off. The first cut has Eric wincing nervously, and as the wavy locks fall down his shoulders and on to the bed, he grunts to himself.

"Calm the fuck down," Kyle tells him, snipping at another strand. "Who sees you anyway? You're stuck in this bed until you lose at least another two hundred pounds."

"You're such an asshole."

"You like it."

"No, I don't."

Kyle glares at him, wielding the scissors towards his face and lifting and eyebrow as if to reestablish that he's in control right now. When Eric pouts slightly, Kyle leans forward and kisses his thick lips. He's discovered in the past few hours with Eric that everything can be resolved with their lips.

They are quiet while Kyle works, the few lamps and lighting fixtures in Eric's living room acting as the only illumination. The windows have remained blacked out, shut with heavy drapes since Kyle first stepped foot in here. He's never felt a desire to open them, especially now, while he enjoys the isolation that the Cartman household provides. Things are peaceful with Kenny dead, and no one needs to know the happenings inside these walls. For all Kyle cares, the windows could be painted over. He doesn't need to see South Park ever again if it means staying in this dark paradise until he dies.

Finally, he sits back to take in his masterpiece. He snips at a few more strands, Eric making threats over mistakes he didn't make. He runs his fingers through Eric's hair, now hanging just to his eyes. It's a little choppy, but it's soft and the comforting kind of messy. Kyle plays with it for a few moments, leaning into Eric's stomach while he does.

"So? How does it look?"

"You look sexy," Kyle tells him.

Eric reaches for the hand mirror Kyle fetched from his mother's bathroom. He holds it up to look at himself and when he does, Kyle kisses his jaw, looking at their reflection. It's quite a sight.

"You think I'm sexy?" Eric asks him, making eye contact through the reflection. Kyle smiles and nods, running his hands down Eric's broad stomach and lower to his wide waist and thick hips. He watches Eric's face in the mirror as he runs his hands over the hardness in his pants. When Eric's eyes slam shut, Kyle takes the mirror from him and tosses it to the ground. He pushes Eric back against the bed, forcing him to lay in his detached locks of hair and kisses a long line down his chest and stomach until his mouth is hovering at his waistband.

"I'm too big to be sexy."

"You've lost a lot of weight."

"I'm still too big."

Kyle drags his hands down the mass of Eric's stomach and he moans quietly to himself.

"God no," he whispers.

Stan stands in Ike's bedroom, watching as the younger boy packs a duffle bag of the essentials. He's not taking anything they don't really need, he tells Stan. He's got toothbrushes and some money he has saved, as well as a few changes of clothes and their guitars, but other than that, he's not packing anything. That's all they could ever need.

"You're not going to miss your family?" Stan asks.

"Stanley, my mother waged a war against Canada when I was four and my brother used to kick me long distances as a child for fun."

"Still."

Ike moves towards him, looping his arms around Stan's neck and hanging off of him. Stan looks down at him and Ike jumps on to his tiptoes so that their lips brush against each other's while he speaks.

"The happiest I've ever been is with you, and you know we can't stay here. South Park is dying. I'm not going to miss anything about this place as long as I have you."

"Where are we going to go?"

"Wherever you want."

"San Francisco?"

"You're going to love it."

Stan kisses him hard and carries him to bed.

"Before we leave…" he mumbles into his lips, undressing the younger boy as he lays him back on his comforter.

Butters pounds his fists against the door in front of him, tears streaming down his face. He is shrouded in darkness, and sick with fear.

"Think, think," he tells himself, his voice coming out strained behind his sobs. "Maybe if I—"

Butters shuts his eyes and wraps his arms around his head. Maybe if he just imagines they can hear him.

"KYLE. STAN. ERIC. ANYONE," he screams, imagining as hard as he can that they respond to him. He continues to scream aloud, repeating the three boys' names in different repetitions and patterns.

"STAN? KYLE, ERIC, PLEASE."

"ERIC, KYLE, ANYONE? STAN, PLEASE."

Stan and Ike sit up in his bed, spent from sex and strumming their guitars. They sing together, a song Ike has dubbed appropriate for their following plans.

"There is no need to say another word. It will be golden and eternal just like that. Something good will come of all things yet. Simple golden eternity blessing all."

"These roads don't move; you're the one that moves. These roads don't move; you're the one that moves."

Distantly, Stan feels like he can hear a voice in his mind, but he pushes it away and loses himself in the music. The last thing he wants right now is his nagging conscious to warn them that leaving for San Francisco isn't wise.

"Now get my ticket and say goodbye and leave South Park behind. Go back home across Autumn America and it'll all be like it was in the beginning."

'"Cause these roads don't move; you're the one that moves. These roads don't move; you're the one that moves."

Kyle is in his own perfect world while he pleasures Eric. Nothing can bother him right now, and the only sounds he hears are the deep, unbidden moans that come pouring from Eric's mouth every time he bobs his head down on his stiff flesh. He has already swallowed one throatful of the other's release, but he is determined to take everything Eric has to offer him.

Their fingers are intertwined on the side of the bed, and Kyle knows Eric is close by the way he is starting to squeeze his hand, his fingernails digging lightly into the flesh of his knuckles. Kyle pulls back to lavish the head of his cock with a skilled tongue, tracing teasing circles and lapping at his precome.

A simple "holy shit," and Eric is exploding across Kyle's face. He sits there and takes it, happy to be marked by the other boy and loving how taken it makes him feel. Only when he is sure Eric is finished does he tuck the man back into his sweatpants and crawl back up to his face.

He has never felt as safe nor as distant as he does in Eric's arms like this. He doesn't worry about school, or his mother, or his best friend and little brother, or Kenny's convoluted death. Everything is Eric. He wipes his face on his t-shirt and Eric kisses him, chuckling deeply into his mouth.

"Jew."

"Fatty."

"Cockslut."

"Buttfucker."

"Cumdumpster."

"Faggot."

"Flaming Queer-mo."

They both break off into laughter and Kyle is lost in Eric's smiling eyes.

"You ready?"

"Yes," Stan tells him. They both place their phones in Ike's desk drawer, having decided it was better if no one could contact them once they left Colorado. Their things are packed into backpacks for the excuse that they're going to study together in case Ike's mother questions their departure, despite both of them knowing she won't.

As they move down the hallway together, Stan cannot help but peek into Kyle's room. It's emptiness shocks and saddens Stan, but he isn't sure exactly what he was expected, and if he saw Kyle, what would he say? They haven't spoken since they fought, and now he's running away with Kyle's little brother to never return. It's probably best that he doesn't see him, but still, the abandoned room makes Stan's heart ache.

"Okay, Stan?"

"I'm okay," he answers as Ike's fingers brush over his wrist soothingly. They descend the stairs. Sheila does not ask where they are going.

Stan throws their belongings into the backseat and Ike buckles himself into shotgun.

"We need to stop and get gas before we leave South Park, but after that, we're gone," Stan tells him, turning the key in the ignition and hearing the loaded roar of the engine.

"Awesome," Ike grins. As always, the joy on his expressionless face leaves Stan breathless and aching for more.


	14. ReEducation

**Well**

**Chapter Fourteen – Re-Education **

Butters stands, emptying the last of the liquid in his canister on to the concrete floor beneath him. He squints his eyes through the darkness, following the wet trail of kerosene as it leads to where Christophe is crouched. He lining five small crates along the underground wall of South Park High, where the basement level meets the sewage system. He checks the map Christophe had given him earlier in the week. They should be just beneath the cafeteria.

As they turn to leave, Christophe seems to inspect the quality of the kerosene trail to where his boxes have been laid, but Butters takes his silence as a good sign when he stops at the end of the flammable river and eyes the open gutter above them, the yellow light of the street lamp pouring down over their faces. Butters studies him and then begins to walk without waiting for him. Christophe follows. They climb silently out of the storm drain after making sure the path is clear, even though knowing no one would dare be near school on a Saturday night. A couple yards away is mother's van, and Butters climbs inside, waiting while Christophe joins him in the passenger seat. Butters mentally counts the remaining crates in the back of the car. They only have one more stop, but they may as well get things rolling now.

Butters puts the car in drive and pulls out of the empty school parking lot. As he turns back on to the main road, both of their eyes are on South Park High, and Butters cruises slowly until they are directly in front of the school.

With one foot on the brake pedal, Butters opens the door to the van and leans outside, the toe of his other shoe brushing the sidewalk. He lights a match, and then another, and then another, until in his fingers is clutched a miniature bouquet of burning flowers, the flames sparking and smoking beneath his nose. Smiling quietly to himself, Butters lets the lit matches fall to the ground, where, still burning, they slip through the metal grating of the storm drain and float like snowflakes to the anxious kerosene beneath them.

In an instant, they are gone. The wheels of the van screech around the corner and Christophe laughs loudly out the window as the ground beneath the school opens it's fiery jaws and swallows South Park High whole.

Kyle breathes heavily into Eric's mouth, ignoring the movie they had popped in the DVD player to watch. Eric's rough hands slide firmly down his back and Kyle whimpers as the kiss intensifies.

"I'll take my time to slowly plot your end. But now I will spit bullets with my pen. And all I know is you're cute when you scream…"

Groaning, Kyle pulls out of the kiss to grab his cell phone. Craig's name is flashing brightly across the screen, and something tells Kyle not to ignore the phone call, despite Eric's fat hand trying to knock it away from him.

"Stop it, fatass! Hey, Craig, what's up?"

"Kyle you need to come down to school."

"What? Why?"

"You just need to come down here."

With that, Craig has hung up. His words leave Kyle feeling shaky and weak, but despite the way his heart pounds nervously, he climbs out of bed and reaches for his jeans.

"Where the Hell are you going, Broflovski?" Eric asks.

"Craig says I need to go down to school."

"The fuck? Why?"

"He didn't say. He just said I had to get down there. I have a feeling I should go."

Eric stares dully back at Kyle for a long time, and Kyle feels almost as if Eric is trying to tell him something, but he ignores it. He has no time for mind games right now, Craig has really worried Kyle and he needs to make sure everyone is okay. Tying his sneakers and grabbing his coat, he bolts out the door in a matter of seconds.

In the silence, Eric can hear Butters voice ring through his head.

"Shut the fuck up, fag, and let them," Eric snaps.

Kyle runs in the direction of his high school, but it is already apparent what is wrong based on the orange illumination of the sky and thick layer of smoke that coats every breath his running lungs beg for.

"It's on fire," Token tells him when Kyle skids to a halt beside him.

"No shit," Craig drones. "And it's not just on fire. It was an explosion."

Kyle studies the heap of burning rubble that was once the school he had been attending since preschool. Half of it has collapsed into the ground, flames licking up from inside the earth and consuming the building as it slips into the sewers. Kyle gasps for air, the heat of the fire before him burning against his face, even when standing half a block away. Fear is a gripping emotion.

More people begin to crowd around, and distantly sirens ring through the night. Clyde, Craig and Token were the first ones here.

"Where were you guys?" Kyle asks.

"My house," Clyde says.

"How did you know to come here?"

Slowly, he turns to face the other boy. His face red and flickering in the reflection of the flames.

"I don't really know," he admits, shrugging. "We just had a feeling we were supposed to come here."

The crowd gasps as another explosion goes off in the distance and the boys are able to see the Stop 'n' Shop go tumbling to the ground. The entire city is orange and red, flickering and roaring beneath flames and sky-high plumes of black smoke.

"Weak."

Police have surrounded the area, but no one seems quite as brave as the four boys that remain so close to the ruins of building. Kyle can feel the asphalt beneath them cracking and straining against gravity as the sidewalk in front of the school crumbles into the pit of the fire.

However, they are not alone for long. Speeding down the road comes a minivan, leaving black paths of its melting tires as it skids to a halt in front of South Park High. Butters and Christophe abandon the vehicle just in time to avoid its own breathtaking explosion.

"Butters?" many voices shout out in unison.

"Hardly," he laughs. Butters stands before Kyle and the other boys, smirking at them through the heavy air. A moment later, a body lands on the ground before them, coughing and sputtering, tears running down his pale face as he moans in pain, loud and heartbreaking. He looks as if he's been crying for days despite having appeared out of no where. Kyle falls to his knees to help him, and upon closer inspection of his the boy's face, all the color drains from his own.

"Butters...?"

"If _this_ is Butters," Token asks, staring down at the sobbing heap at his feet. "Then who is this?"

They all look back up at the smirking replica of Butters before them.

"Professor Chaos," comes the weak voice beneath them.

Professor Chaos holds his hand out, and Christophe immediately places a gun in his palm. Before anyone can react, there is a bullet through Butters skull and his sobbing seizes. Kyle holds his bleeding body weakly in his arms, not quite willing to let go.

"You bastards!"

"Dude," Craig says quietly. Clyde starts to cry, trying to hide his tears.

"Leopold Stotch, you are under arrest!" Officer Barbrady shouts, a gun pointed at Professor Chaos's head.

"That's not Butters!" Token shouts.

"Who is he then?" Barbrady sneers, glancing back at Token.

"Butters' alter ego," Kyle explains from the ground. "Butters is dead."

Professor Chaos laughs while Office Barbrady stares down at Butter's body, dumbfounded. Kyle glares up at him.

"What the fuck is your problem, dude? What the fuck did Butters ever do to you?"

"Nothing but stifle me," he answers. "But finally, I will be able to get revenge on everyone that has ever teased or used me!"

"Dumbshit!" Kyle shouts. "You killed yourself! Who the fuck are you avenging if not the innocent man you just shot!"

Professor Chaos stares heatedly back at Kyle, his eyes even hotter than the fire that roars behind them. Kyle is aware of the entire population of South Park standing several yards behind them, still and silent. Their inability to speak has never seemed so deafening before.

"And you," Kyle snaps at Christophe, "should be ashamed of yourself. Just because you hate your life, and hate God, and hate your parents doesn't give you the right to ruin life for the rest of us."

"We're doing you a favor," Christophe growls down at him. "You want out of here just as badly as we do."

Professor Chaos wheels away from them, brandishing his pistol in the air.

"Don't move!" Officer Barbrady demands, but in an instant Professor Chaos blows off his hand and Barbrady falls to the ground, clutching the bloody stump where his hand once was to his chest. No other cops rush to their rescue. Kyle shakes his head. This city was trapped in a cycle of tragedy after tragedy, and it just seems that South Park has no more miracles up his sleeve. He has simply laid down and offered his life to the men with guns.

"You all will thank us," Christophe says, louder this time.

"For what?" Kyle yells. "Burning down our city? What the fuck are we supposed to do now? We just have to move! You haven't helped us at all!"

"I'm not done yet," Professor Chaos says with a smile. Slowly, his hand is raised to the sky.

Suddenly, there are hundreds of booming voices filling the air, and the sound nearly cripples Kyle as he tries to climb to his feet, Butter's cooling body sliding slowly from his grip.

"The signal!" they screech. "He gave the signal!"

Wide eyed and jaws dropped, Kyle, Clyde, Token and Craig turn and run as hundreds upon hundreds of the evil creatures from the dark side of Imaginationland descend upon South Park. There are claws and teeth and blood hungry beasts tearing apart the people Kyle has grown up with. He runs as hard as he can, and doesn't even stop when a Xenomorph grabs Craig and Clyde from behind. Token is lost a moment later to Jason Voorhees. Kyle cannot stop. He has only one boy on his mind.

Explosions continue to rear their ugly heads throughout the town as fires hit the hidden stacks of gunpowder grates that Christophe and Professor Chaos had placed around. The detonations send fear rocketing through Kyle. He has no idea how far away the city's fire is from Eric. His feet pound the ground as he races to the edge of commercial South Park.

Kyle turns to cut through the gas station. He can see Eric's house in the distance. A worried glance behind him shows a group of villains walking down the road to residential South Park. He can make it as long as he moves fast.

Ripping his jacket off, Kyle sprints towards the road. His foot lands on a solid patch of black ice and as he tries to propel himself forward, Kyle slips and falls.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

As always, thank you all for reading. :) I hope you enjoyed my attempt at action and suspense! ONLY TWO MORE CHAPTERS AND WELL IS GOING TO BE COMPLETED WITHIN THE WEEK!


	15. Love Me Dead

**Well**

**Chapter Fifteen – Love Me Dead**

Kyle groans, slowly trying to pick himself off of the ground where he had fallen so hard just outside the gas station. His face and palms are stinging, bloody from skidding across the ice. He can tell his knees are going to be purple tomorrow, and they protest bending as he slowly pulls himself off the ground. That is, if it makes it to tomorrow.

There is a hand on the back of his neck and Kyle is shoved back down to the asphalt, sprawled flat like road-kill as someone leans their body weight on his back and pins him down. The blood was rushing so loudly in his ears, he never heard anyone coming. Kyle does not breathe, he can't expand his lungs through the fear of death, which he knows is imminent due to the presence of the villain on top of him. What upsets Kyle the most is that he can't warn Eric. Eric won't even know what happened to him.

He cries out when he is flipped over, his shoulder blades slamming hard against the icy ground beneath him. Horror becomes what pulses through his veins as he looks up into the face of his captor.

"Miss me?"

"Kenny," Kyle whispers, his throat tight with fear. Part of him tries to fight against his gut, telling himself that Kenny wouldn't hurt him, but he knows that something has snapped in Kenny over the past few days. This isn't the boy he grew up with. "How are you back so soon? You died like… two days ago."

"I died two days ago?" Kenny laughs. "You mean you killed me two days ago."

Kenny's hand lays threateningly on Kyle's neck and Kyle closes his eyes, praying silently for an escape.

"You thought you were safe from me? Did you _really _think you got away from me? Look at this place!" he shouts, waving his arm in the air, gesturing towards the flaming city behind them. "Hell opened up in South Park, and you think I _wouldn't _be here?"

"What are you talking about?" Kyle asks, opening his eyes slowly to look up at the man straddling him. Kenny's orange clothes are the exact same color as the flames reaching into the sky from behind them. His eyes are suken, purple and dark. His tongue draws slowly along his dry lips. He looks tragically beautiful in this nightmare. Distantly, Kyle knows the second the fire reaches the gas station, they're going to die in a brilliant explosion, but the thought is buried beneath his confusion.

"South Park _is_ Hell, Kyle. It is the seething, diseased pit of fucked up, abandoned souls and angry people. Hell isn't fiery and burning, dude. It's snowy, and cold, and eternal. _This _is Hell. We've been living in Hell our entire fucking lives. Why do you think I can't leave, Kyle? Why do you think I keep being forced back into this wretched town? Don't you see? You had to know, Kyle. You had to know that."

Kyle is shaking his head, refusing to process the information that Kenny is spouting at him. The hand around his trachea tightens and Kyle coughs, sputtering in his attempt for a chance to breath the smoke filled air.

"Stay with me," Kenny whispers, leaning down and kissing Kyle. Kyle throws his head to the side, trying to avoid his lips.

"No."

"Stay with me," he repeats. "I'm in love with you."

"No, you're not," Kyle gasps. "You told me you weren't."

"I changed my mind," he growls.

"You're not in love with me," Kyle shouts angrily, trying to push the other man off of him. "You're in love with the stability and normalcy I provided. We had a routine and you felt like, for a few months, that South Park was something more than Hell. Somewhere else. Well, I've learned something today, Kenny, there is no leaving South Park, unless you were never really here to begin with."

Kenny scowls from above him. "Stop talking."

Kyle fights against Kenny as the other boy reaches for the fly of his jeans, tearing his pants down his thighs.

"Get the fuck off of me!" he tries to shout, but Kenny's hand is over his mouth, rendering him silent. He's going to have to lay here and get raped by a person he once considered his best friend. He shuts his eyes. Maybe, if he doesn't fight, this will be fast and he can still make it back to Eric in time.

Suddenly, there is the sound of wood cracking, and Kyle feels Kenny's body lift from his own. He opens his eyes, and Kenny is beside him, clutching his head in his arms are shouting out with rage. Ike is standing before Kyle, the broken remains of a guitar in his hands, having been used to crack across the side of Kenny's head seconds before. A glance to his right shows Stan falling to his knees over Kenny, his fists falling fast and heavy into Kenny's face over, and over.

Kyle is transfixed, mesmerized as he watches Kenny's face be crushed, bloody and mangled beneath Stan's angry hands. His mouth hangs open, laying on the frozen concrete with his pants around his knees.

"RUN," Ike shouts at him, dropping the guitar to the ground and moving over to Stan, trying to pull his lover off of the body. Kenny is no longer breathing. Ike looks back at Kyle, shaking his head. "Dude, run! Go!"

Kyle stands, pulling his jeans up to his waist and hesitating for just a moment before he takes off, sprinting down the road towards Eric's and leaving Stan, Ike and Kenny behind him.

"What is your fucking problem?" Gregory cries, shoving Christophe away from him. "I thought you were a good person."

Christophe tries again to grab Gregory's wrists and pull him closer. Gregory continues to strain against him.

"I did this for you, Gregory! South Park is gone! We can leave, we can go back to Yardale. I hate it here. You hate it here, I know!"

"We could have just left! I would have left if you told me you felt this way. You've hurt people. This is bad, Christophe."

"Shut up, let's go."

Christophe tugs hard and Gregory falls into him. He drags the blonde towards the door, but it is pushed open before he opens it himself. Professor Chaos stares back at them.

"Out of my way," Christophe shouts. "We're getting out of here."

"Ha! Funny!" Professor Chaos laughs. "You're not going anywhere. There can't be any survivors, or I wouldn't have accomplished anything."

"What?" Christophe says dumbly. Gregory ripping out of his arms, tears streaking down his face.

Professor Chaos points his gun at them and shoots them both, first Gregory, and then Christophe. Had he not shot them in the face, regret would have been etched into Gregory and Christophe's features until they rotted away.

Every flickering shadow and distant creaking of falling buildings give Kyle small heart attacks as he runs. He has never run so fast and felt so slow in his entire life, and it feel likes a dream when he finally pushes his way into Eric's house. He locks the door behind him, despite knowing that if he had been followed, a locked door won't deter much.

Eric does not seem shocked or surprised when Kyle bursts into the living room. His jacket as been lost, his pants are open. His face and hands are bleeding, and his hair is grey from the blizzard of ash that is falling like heavy snow from the South Park skies, but Eric is looking at him calmly, sitting up in bed and eating a bag of cheesy poofs. Kyle almost wants to ask where Eric got those from, but he isn't going to deny his love his favorite snack on a night like this.

"We have to get out of here," he says quietly.

"Kyle, you know I can't leave."

All of the fear and anxiety seems to drain from Kyle hearing those words. He steps out of his shoes and quietly climbs into Eric's bed.

They kiss. Eric lays back against the bed and Kyle leans over him, loving how soft and damp Eric's lips are against his own cracking and dry ones. Eric's living room is still darkened to the outside world. Perhaps they are safe in here. It looks like no one is home. Kyle cannot even hear the destruction outside through the walls. It is silent, and the only light that is cast is yellow and from the coffee table lamp. This is another world. Kyle could stay here forever.

Kyle sits up, his hand shakily reaching for the extra pillow on Eric's bed that he sleeps with. Eric says nothing, his sweet chocolate eyes watching him calmly as Kyle lays the pillow firmly over Eric's face. Kyle cannot breathe.

A few minutes later, Kyle walks into the kitchen, searching desperately through the cabinets. When he finds nothing, he jogs upstairs, searching through Eric's and then Leann's bathroom. He should have done this before he killed the man he loved. He can hardly see through his mask of tears.

Eventually, he finds their stash of medication, and Kyle grabs two bottles of Advil, a bottle of Tylenol and two bottles of Nyquil. Walking back downstairs, Kyle crawls back on the bed and leans back against Eric's body. He takes everything, washing back handfuls of pills with mouthfuls of Nyquil until he is dizzy and sleepy. He forces himself to finish off every bottle before tucking himself neatly into Eric's side and falling asleep.

"We gotta go, Stan," Ike whispers, wrapping his arms around Stan's chest and dragging his body off of Kenny. "He's finished."

"For now," Stan growls bitterly, kicking Kenny's corpse in the ribs. Ike laces his fingers through Stan's and tugs him towards the car.

Stan climbs into the driver's seat and Ike buckles in beside him. They kiss once, briefly, before Stan peels away from the gas station on to the road out of town. As they cruise towards highway Seventy, they can see the gas station go up in a round cloud of flames. Ike leans forward and turns on the radio. There are two voices singing over the quiet acoustic guitar in the background.

"Well, you might be a bit confused."

"And you might be a little bit bruised, but baby how we spoon like no one else. So I will help you read those books if you will soothe my worried looks."

When they sing together, Stan smiles.

"And we will put the lonesome on the shelf. Oh, let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the South of France. Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance. Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain making everybody look like ants. From way up there: you and I, you and I."

Quietly, Kenny walks through South Park. He wasn't quite dead when Stan and Ike had left him, but the explosion of the gas station did it. It's a shame that moments later he is back, walking through the ruins of his hometown. Coming back hurts more than dying does. It is quiet, and anybody around him is laying dead on the ground. Flames are still burning steadily, but it seems many of the evil creatures have gone home, having satisfied their desires and cravings for blood.

"Well, you're the last one," Professor Chaos's voice booms from behind him. Kenny slowly turns to face him. There is a bullet through his chest.

Kenny looks down at himself as blood seeps from within him and stains his jacket. He can feel the pain, but for some reason, it doesn't hurt. He looks back up at Professor Chaos, who looking slightly horrified, fires another shot. Maybe it stings as the bullet tears through his intestines, but mostly its irritating.

Kenny lunges forward, knocking Professor Chaos to the ground. They wrestle for a moment before Kenny manages to get in control of the weapon. Neither one of them has any words as Kenny buries the gun against Professor Chaos's neck and pulls the trigger.

He stands, listening to Professor Chaos take gurgling, strained breaths through the blood that fills his throat and lungs. He'll let him bleed.

Curious, Kenny opens his jacket to see the wounds on his torso have already started to heal. He sighs sadly. Kyle was right.

There is just no leaving South Park.

THE END

* * *

**Author's Notes**

I know I said two more chapters but I changed my mind. Well, (haha) the story is over! Thank you everyone so much for reading. This fic means a lot to me and I love that I got so many kind reviews and faves! To those who have read and haven't reviewed, leave me a comment or PM me and let me know what you thought about the whole thing! I'm about to start another chapter fic, and the encouragement would be appreciated (:

Again, thank you all so, so, so much. 3


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